Rogue Shadow
by SLotH4
Summary: Betrayed for the last time, a rogue Sith goes on the hunt for his enemies and former brothers. A tale of vengeance that will reshape the galaxy. Set during rangermike's "Descended from Heroes and Villains".
1. Prison Break

I came up with the idea of a rogue Sith several years ago. When I was reading rangermike's stories I began to apply the concept to his story "The Children". Then he wrote "Descended from Heroes and Villians", once again I imagined a rogue Sith in that story and decided it was too good an idea to ignore. So I obtained rangermike's approval for a spin-off and here it is.

Descended from Heroes and Villians was removed from this site awhile back. If you are unfamiliar with the story feel free to email me. I have copies of all the chapters saved in word documents.

When rangermike has enough time to continue writing Descended from Heroes and Villians, he'll make the necessary changes to the later chapters to bring this story into the Descended universe. The timing of this chapter takes place when Javen Panlie is on Onderon and his sister Shadee is on Tatooine. Enjoy.

* * *

**Rogue Shadow**

**457 A.B.Y.**

_**The sound of blaster-fire filled the air. A distant scream could be heard down the street. An endless river of silver armor poured through the city. They killed everyone, if only I had been stronger I could have stopped them, I would have killed them all. I wish I could stop the screaming, it never ends. The screaming never ends, I wish I were dead.**_

The nightmare ended as it always does with a sense of great regret. To have everyone you care about and everything you have ever known destroyed. To see it all burn at your feet because you cannot stop the fire, and then to be haunted by those images whenever you close your eyes. This is the nightmare that haunts Taral's dreams and fills him with such regret. Now he has the power to crush his enemies, but it has not brought him any closer to the happiness he lost so many years ago. It was his lack of strength which continues to be his greatest regret.

As the nightmare ended and Taral regained consciousness, he heard a strange noise. Distorted at first, the sound slowly cleared until recognizable words began popping out and he realized someone was talking. He strained his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation he was listening to.

"…to be metal fragments embedded within the soft tissue of his brain."

_Whose voice is that?_

"It's as if circuitry were surgically implanted beneath his skull, well before he attacked the site. The device appears to be inert and I've removed what I could."

"**I see. The Colonel's taken quite an interest in your captive and he wants to meet with the boy after he finishes his mission."**

"He's unconscious at the moment, but his vitals seem stable. He should be fine for the interrogation the Colonel has planned."

"**Alright, keep him locked up and secured with a suppression collar, the Gayiyli will be landing in two hours."**

Taral opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, as the bright sterile lights of the room burned the retinas of his eyes. His normally vibrant olive-green eyes were terribly blood shot and dull. They felt tired and dry, as if they had not been used in a long, long time. He squinted as his sight adjusted to the light, everything that was blurry and distorted began to clear.

He felt an enormous migraine burning within his skull. His head hurt so badly, a labored pain that permeated his entire being. He reached up to rub his forehead in a futile attempt to dull the pain. But instead of feeling the soft strands of his hair, he touched the textured fabric of gauze bandages. The bandages were wrapped around the top of his head, completely covering his wavy brown hair.

_Why's there a bandage on my head?_

As Taral's vision cleared he realized that he was locked in a force cage, wearing nothing more than tattered pants. He did not possess a shirt and so his upper body was exposed to the warm air of his cell. Burn scars riddled his back, chest, and arms; straight lines of raised skin where a lightsaber had burned his flesh. The vast majority were souvenirs gathered from training exercises throughout the years. His flesh had a pale complexion, though only slightly, as if he had not seen the sun in several months. Or perhaps he had spent too much time in outer space, away from the tanning powers of a planet's sun. His pale skin only served to make his scars more noticeable, as the contrast of skin color caused the scar tissue to stand out on his body.

The glow of the energy beam particles cast an orange light upon Taral's exposed flesh; the light made his pale skin glow with an unnatural orange hue. The color was only slightly negated by the sterile white lights of the room which contained the small prison. His cell was a simple, one-person force cage; with an emitter ring on top, the energy field descended from the ring in a circular, barrier curtain. The cell appeared to be a tall cylinder when the energy field was activated. Most force cages, Taral's included, are placed next to the wall so as to draw from a nearby energy source.

Taral noticed an absence of the Force around him; normally he could feel the energy of his environment as he slowly drained it to feed his own power. A gentle weight on the back of his neck drew his attention to the silver band around his neck. He pulled on the collar and received a slight shock. As he smiled to himself, Taral released the collar and turned his attention to the woman who was approaching his cell. She was an older woman who wore a medical uniform, a doctor it would seem.

"You're awake, huh? Good, we'll be landing on Dxun in two hours and Colonel Fett wants to see you as soon as possible. I'm sure he has…"

_Fett? He found me, but how did they capture me? Last thing I remember I was strapped to a table while that bitch… no matter, I have to get out of here before they kill me._

"… should get comfortable while you wait." The doctor said before returning to her seat with Taral to her back. She seemed oblivious to the fact Taral was not listening to her words, his mind reeling from the prospect of being a Mandalorian prisoner.

Taral's fingers ran across the silver ring around his neck. Force inhibitors like this collar suppress radiant Force energy, which is why it is so effective against Jedi; the Jedi, and the Sith for that matter, can only use the Force as a radiant energy. However, a wound in the Force is like a siphon, absorbing all the radiant Force energy and creating a void in the Force.

The collar prevents Taral from using his full power, but it will not prevent him from using subtle, low-level powers. A tiny nudge with the Force is immediately absorbed by the siphon, preventing the Force collar from registering and subsequently neutralizing the Force energy. That is why a standard suppression collar is ineffective on Taral; it is as if he does not exist. And with the slightest push, the collar's locking mechanism disengaged and the Force suppression collar fell into his hand.

The sensation of reopening one's perceptions to the power of the Force is indescribable. It is as if attempting to explain color to the blind. Their perceptions expand and they taste the galaxy for the first time; the senses are heightened, colors are more pronounced, and sounds are perceived at a higher level. The feeling is narcotic. The energy of the medical room was flowing through the air in a somewhat lackadaisical manner, like food coloring in a glass of still water. With the collar no longer active, the energy gained momentum and slowly began to swirl around Taral in an attempt to fill the hungry void within his soul.

Taral reached his hand toward the emitter ring above his head. Using the Force, he found the flow of energy which was powering the cage; it completed an electric circuit as any electrical appliance does. Taral used the Force to cut the wiring within the emitter ring and disabled the barrier curtain. The circuit was now disconnected, rendering it useless; the power was still there but it could not flow as it once did.

No alarms went off when the cage was deactivated. The doctor did not even notice as she was too preoccupied with her medical spec sheets. Nor did she notice as a nearby scalpel flew through the air and landed in Taral's hand. There was no struggle, as he slithered up behind her and slit her throat. Her ruptured arteries coated the desk and nearby wall in a fine mist of warm, red liquid. Her body slid to the floor and twitched ever so slightly as the stream of blood slowed from a torrent to a gentle stream. Taral was careful not to step in the blood but he made no attempt to hide the doctor's body. It would have made no difference as there was blood all over the medical room; a large pool of blood was now forming around the corpse at his feet. There was no way for him to clean up the mess and really no time to dedicate to such an involved task. Normally he would have had the forethought to snap her neck, but the pain in his head and the confusion of his current situation led him to act rashly, something he would be mindful of in the future.

_Time to leave. Hmm, there's always the front door, of course I don't have a lightsaber and I'm stuck with a bunch of Mandalorians. Maybe there's another way out of here._

The gentle hum of flowing air brought his attention to the doctor's desk. Squatting down Taral was able to make out the metal grate of a ventilation system. He put his hand to the grate and felt the cold air flowing through the opening. Eying the air vent beneath the doctor's desk Taral decided that was the best route to go.

_Air conditioning, these vents probably go throughout the entire… ship? That woman said something about us arriving somewhere. _Taral shook the thought away and extended his hand toward the vent cover.

The screws holding the vent cover began to unscrew themselves. The screws moved together until all four fell to the floor. As the last screw fell out the vent cover fell down and a new escape was now possible. Taral crawled into the vent and used the Force to close the vent cover and screw it shut. The vents were cramped with barely enough room to fit his shoulders, the ends of which dragged against the freezing metal. If Taral had been claustrophobic this situation would have been the ultimate nightmare. Thankfully the fears he experienced were few and far between and such a mundane fear as claustrophobia would have been beneath him.

Taral continued to crawl through the endless twists and turns of the labyrinthine ventilation system. The cold metal burned the exposed flesh of his upper-body and feet, as well as any skin on his legs that happened to line up with one of the many holes in his pants. It is an ironic sensation, that extreme cold would be felt as if it were heat; as if you were on fire though in reality you were near frozen. Slowly Taral's skin went numb from the cold and he lost feeling within his fingers and toes. Though he was nowhere near frostbitten yet, if he devoted too much time to this venture he may very well lose his appendages. The Force could have been used to warm his body, but Taral chose not to. Instead he decided to weather the cold and wake up his tired body further.

_This could take all day; I need to find an exit and a change of clothes._

Taral crawled through the ice cold shaft for several more minutes, when he heard a peculiar noise. The noise came from a secondary shaft that branched off to the right. Following the noise Taral found a vent cover that looked into a dark room. Using the Force, Taral forced the hatch open and pulled it into the shaft he currently occupied so as not to make any noise. He looked through the hole and realized that the dark room was actually an elevator shaft.

_Hmm, looks like the elevator went up a few floors, I'll just have to wait for it to come back down. Then I'll catch a ride._

Taral did not have to wait long, as the elevator made its descent he prepared himself. This was a covert escape which meant he had to flee without arousing suspicion. The best approach in this scenario, he surmised, was to land on the elevator roof before it reached its floor. Timing was everything, as the elevator passed the vent it blocked out what little light was available and as soon as the light returned Taral leapt from the vent and entered freefall. He was no more than a meter from the elevator but they were moving at the same speed which meant Taral would not land until the elevator slowed down or he sped up. Taral pulled his body in tight to reduce the wind resistance. Taral began to speed up and gradually he inched closer to the elevator roof. The elevator began to slow just as Taral spun around and allowed his feet to touch the roof. He had made it, and he did it quietly.

_That was close. _Taral looked through the maintenance hatch on the roof. _Let's see who's riding this thing… What the hell? _A lone Jedi entered the elevator and pressed one of the higher floors. _What's a Jedi doing on a Mandalorian ship?_

Taral pushed the stray thought out of his mind and began to open the hatch, he used the Force to keep it quiet but the Jedi did not seem to notice. To conceal noise is a very subtle application of the Force not unlike removing the force collar as he did earlier. Not that it mattered since the Force wound creates a void where radiant Force energy does not exist; it takes a truly observant Jedi to sense a wound in the Force. Even if Taral were not a Force wound it is doubtful the Jedi would have noticed him. The Jedi possess such lackluster focus these days; there was a time when Jedi truly understood the Force and how best to use and feel it. But those days are long gone, these Jedi are nothing more than children with too much power and no responsibility or pride.

_Alright, let's do this quick and quiet, just the way I hate it._

Taral dropped to the floor behind the Jedi without a sound. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he reveled in the hunt, despite the fact that his "hunt" had only lasted a few seconds and had been completely accidental. In his rush to escape, Taral had not properly probed the ship through the Force to ascertain who was on board. Though it may have been for the best as this Jedi and any others may have sensed Taral's probing mind.

Taral wrapped his arms around the Jedi's head and wretched his neck. Taral then used the Force to throw the body through the maintenance hatch before leaping through the hatch himself. There were probably security cameras on the elevator; hopefully this action was so quick it would go unnoticed by the ship's security personnel. In any case hiding the Jedi's body would at least minimize the risk of detection. Not that it mattered any more, the distant sound of a siren told Taral that the doctor's body had been discovered. The Mandalorians now knew there was an escapee on the ship and they would do anything to bring Taral back in.

_Alright let's see what we have to work with. Basic white and brown robes and… oh my god, look at this piece of shit. It's no wonder they don't focus on saber play, their equipment is garbage. _A snap-hiss bathed the elevator shaft in yellow light. _Not really my color, but at least it works. And with this I'll have a much better chance against those Mandalorians._

Taral stripped the body of its clothing and discarded the tattered pants he was currently wearing. As he dressed himself in the Jedi's attire, Taral realized it was too tight. He ignored the discomfort as there was nothing he could do about it.

_It's a little tight in the crotch. _Taral thought with a smirk.

Taral discarded the bandages on his head releasing the brown waves of his hair, but the hair never came. When Taral had last been conscious he had had semi lengthy hair coming down over his ears, with the strands on the back of his head extending to the tops of his shoulders. However he now sported a buzz cut, though it did not have any particular form, instead it appeared to be a natural growth. It was as if Taral's hair had been completely shaved off and then allowed to grow back over the course of week.

This revelation slightly perturbed Taral, he liked his hair the way it was and now he would have to grow it back. He stayed his annoyance before pulling the large hood over his head. His headache had become worse since he tore the cloth away from the hole in the back of his head; Taral touched the inflamed tissue beneath the cloak hood and winced in pain. Ignoring his discomfort, Taral dropped back into the elevator and closed the hatch with the Force. He walked over to the control panel and pressed the emergency stop button. As the elevator jolted into standstill, Taral pressed the ground floor holo-button and began his descent.

Taral stood in the center of the elevator contemplating his current situation. Wondering how he became a Mandalorian prisoner. His thoughts were brought back to the pain in his head; what was it from? He remembered the vague words of the doctor when she was explaining the wound to her superior. Something about circuitry implanted in his brain.

_Did they put that prototype inhibitor in my head? They threatened me with it; maybe that's why I don't remember anything._

Taral's thoughts were interrupted as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened up to a small lobby. He exited while trying to appear as nonchalant as possible; it seemed to work as no one paid him any mind as they rushed to their stations. The alarms were still blaring loudly and it made him nervous to be around so many Mandalorians while they were on alert.

A large map on the wall caught Taral's eye, as he was looking at it he noticed the words "hanger bay" written in the Mandalorian language of Mando'a. The entire map was written in Mando'a, luckily Taral had learned the language many years ago, and that knowledge would now provide him with an escape. It was not far from his current location, it would only take a minute to reach the hanger.

_That's my way out. Let's hope these animals left something in the hanger I can fly._

It took a few minutes to reach the hanger, Taral received several glances on the way but no one suspected. The alarms had died down but everyone was still on alert, he would have to be cautious as anything out of the ordinary could draw their attention. The doors to the hanger opened as he approached revealing an expansive room filled with fighters and support craft. Most of the ships were suspended from the ceiling, held aloft by vertical columns with horizontal struts which left the ships hanging from the ceiling. However, there were plenty of ships resting on the floor beneath the vertical struts. One ship caught Taral's eye as an easy grab, an RP-16E Venom Heavy Fighter.

The Venom Heavy Fighter took the basic design of a Mandalorian fighter and extended the body, filling the new space with any armaments available. It was covered in the same basic paint scheme as all the other ships in the hanger; the ion engines and its stubby wings were coated in a desert-tan, while the cockpit and the majority of the hull was painted a light burgundy. The streamlined, aerodynamic design of the fighter was designed for greater maneuverability and speed; the Venom was like a firaxan shark, swimming amongst the stars. Most fighter and starships never left the vacuum of space, making their aerodynamic designs completely irrelevant. Since there was no air resistance in outer space, the fighters would have been just as fast and maneuverable if they had instead been solid, metal cubes.

Taral approached the Venom Fighter with an appraising eye, trying to decide whether or not to steal this particular space craft.

_Now what the hell is that thing? Hmm, away from prying eyes and right in front of me. Seems like the best option._

Taral used the Force to open the cockpit and jumped in. As the cockpit fuselage closed he got his first view of the controls and was pleasantly surprised by the simplicity of the controls. He spent a minute familiarizing himself with the controls before he powered up the ion engines and lifted the fighter off the deck. Alarms were set off by the hanger bay staff as they notified the bridge and mobilized the pilots. The pilots stationed on the ship ran to their fighters as Taral made off with his Venom Fighter, their only hope was to rush after him and hopefully shoot him down.

Taral's high-jacked fighter made it through the magnetic field, which encompassed the entire side-wall of the hanger, into the void of space. The fighter did not contain a hyperdrive so there was no way to escape the system he was in. There was a nearby planet and Taral could sense that it teemed with life; surely there had to be an adequate vessel on the surface. And if need be, Taral could use the planet to hide from the Mandalorians. The planet was actually part of a binary planet system, orbiting an almost identically-sized planet. However, they appeared to have two completely different environments. The slightly larger of the two was a light brown color, suggesting prairie and desert. The smaller planet was an emerald sphere covered in lush, green forests. The Mandalorians had arrived at the Onderon-Dxun binary system shortly before Taral stole his fighter.

_Only one way out. _Taral thought as he sped toward the planets. He did not get far as his fighter shook violently. The Mandalorians caught him in the tractor beam and began pulling him back to the ship. A small group of fighters, which had mobilized after he stole the ship, began circling him as he was slowly drawn back to his prison.

_I'll just have to exterminate the vermin and make another attempt at freedom._

A sound strategy, but not without its risks; the ship was huge and was filled with highly trained Mandalorian soldiers, not to mention Taral's weakened state which would make it impossible for him to succeed. Most would consider this a suicide mission, but Taral looked at it with detached hope. Hope for success, but a deeper hope for death; in many ways he had died when he watched his home burn. A warrior's death would be his only solace.

* * *

**The Gayiyli**

**Nau'ur Kad-Class Cruiser**

Master Tokare sat in his hover chair as the stolen fighter was brought back into the hanger bay. It was rather impressive that this man had managed to escape, for the most part, undetected. Tokare had been meditating on the ship's bridge; musing about the battle he took part in on the planet Felucia.

Two day ago the Gayiyli had arrived at Felucia to recover one of the data caches under the protection of Javen Panlie, the current Holder of the Heart of the Guardian. The Guardian was a grey Jedi, unaffiliated with the Jedi Order. It was the Guardians swore duty to protect the Jedi Order and the ancient secrets of both the Jedi and Sith. The data cache of Felucia was carefully hidden away within the gullet of the Ancient Abyss, a mega-sarlacc pit of unrivaled size. Long ago the holocrons and other artifacts had been placed within water-tight, armored crates and brought to the pit. The Guardian of the time took the crates into the belly of the beast for protection from the rest of the galaxy, but they needed protection from the Ancient Abyss itself. So the Guardian cut open the lining of the creature's stomach and placed the crates within the wounds, protecting them from being digested and later excreted by the sarlacc.

The Guardian had used the Force to ease the pain of the creature as its insides were sliced open. The Guardian, always the model Jedi, sought to ease the suffering of other people and even animals. The Ancient Abyss was no different than the poor slobs protected by the Jedi back in Alliance space. After several standard months the wounds healed over and there was no trace of the crates. The only way to detect them was through the Force or by using highly sensitive gear. However the crates were only detectable from within the Abyss and no one would be crazy enough to actually search through the stomach of a sarlacc. No one knew of the data cache and so it was one of the safest in the galaxy.

The danger of the mission required the presence of a Jedi Master to keep the team safe. This was why Master Tokare was asked to recover the data cache, he was the only master Javen Panlie trusted to handle the mission without incident. The mission had been proceeding well; they had come out of hyperspace in the Felucia system and approached the jungle planet. Entering the atmosphere the crew was greeted with the extraordinary landscape. Enormous fungal growth as far as the eye could see. There were mushrooms the size of trees and others that were truly monstrous having grown to the size of city skyscrapers.

The Gayiyli crossed the surface of the continent and came across an expanse of flesh colored soil and large white spikes jutting out of the ground. This was the enormous mouth of the Ancient Abyss, kilometers of gummy flesh and jutting teeth. A large pit at the center of the gummy mass revealed the entrance to the beast's maw. Enormous tentacles surrounded the stone-like beak of the Ancient Abyss's tongue.

During the Great Jedi Purge, the Imperial Empire had conquered this world in an attempt to wipe out the last of the Jedi, some of whom were hiding on Felucia. Imperial stormtroopers began to exterminate the native population, a Force sensitive race known as the Felucians. The Felucians retreated to the gullet of the Ancient Abyss in an attempt to hide from the Imperials. This did not dissuade the empire which simply built scaffolding over the pit and chained down the tentacles and the empire even went so far as to cut off several tentacle tips simply to torture the creature. The scaffolding had since been destroyed and now lay in ruin, covered in new fungal growth. But as the ship approached the pit it became obvious that something was amiss. The tentacles were once again chained down and the beak had been forced open and held in place with large chains and piercing hooks.

A nearby vessel was parked on the lip of the Ancient Abyss. The data cache had been found, but obviously not yet recovered as the ship was still on Felucia. So any invaders would still be inside the sarlacc collecting artifacts. The Gayiyli released a single transport ship and took position over the mouth of the Abyss. The Mandalorians attempted to establish radio contact with the intruder vessel, after the vessel failed to respond it was marked as hostile. The Gayiyli launched a single anti-ship warhead and destroyed the small ship. It exploded in a brilliant red fireball. A large black mushroom cloud of smoke began to climb out of the burning wreckage; an artificial mushroom joining the endless fungal forest of the surrounding terrain.

As the Gayiyli was attempting to contact the enemy vessel, the Mandalorian transport which had departed the Gayiyli took position over the top of the sarlacc beak and lowered several repel lines into the creature's mouth. Master Tokare and a small squad of elite Mandalorian Supercommandos repelled into the pit. Hard boots made loud squishing noises when they came into contact with the soft wet flesh of the sarlacc's esophagus.

The sarlacc released a paralyzing agent into the air within its throat so that it may immobilize its prey when they became trapped within the creature's gullet. For this reason the entire team was outfitted with rebreather helmets. Master Tokare on the other hand wore nothing, his connection to the Force allowed him to use the breath control technique. It was an ancient technique where a Jedi could numb the body's instinct to shut itself down after long periods without oxygen and survive on the minute reserves of oxygen already contained within the Jedi's lungs.

The winding passages of the sarlacc's innards which would normally be dark and dank were instead filled with bright lights. Small generators powered floor-level spotlight lanterns which prevented the sarlacc tendrils from attacking passersby. The tendrils would latch onto anything that moved too close and draw the poor victim into the digestive sections of the sarlacc's anatomy. One of these poor creatures was stuck in the wall; he was wearing what appeared to be stormtrooper armor and began babbling to himself as the team passed by. Tendrils pierced and merged with his flesh and absorbed his mind and body until he became one with the Ancient Abyss. This poor man had probably spent several centuries in the belly of the beast as he was slowly devoured and absorbed into the sarlacc.

Thankfully the lights would protect the team from a similar fate due to the fact that sarlacc tendrils were extremely sensitive to bright light and would shy away from it whenever possible. It seemed that the invaders had cleared a path for Master Tokare and his team. They gingerly made their way through the illuminated pseudo-tunnel until they came upon an open, cavernous space leading to the stomach. Within the space was a group of perhaps a dozen humanoid figures as well as several large metal crates. The crates were covered in sarlacc blood, a highly caustic substance which would be pumped into the sarlacc's victims through its tendrils. The crates had been cut out of the nearby wall and the invaders were preparing to move them to the top of the creature's esophagus.

Once arriving at the back of the creature's throat, their transport shuttle would have lifted the crates and prepared to leave the system with their valuable cargo. Of course they would discover this plan to be futile as their transport vessel had just been destroyed by the Gayiyli. The stony plating of the sarlacc's outer body, as well as the tons of fungal infested soil which surrounded it, blocked all communications from the surface; as such the ground team had no idea that their ship had been blown to atoms. A dozen trandoshan assassins, who were hopped up on the powerful narcotic Nova Dust, worked to free the crates and prep them for transport. Standing to the back was a portly human male and tall cloaked figure. The human was an older man with thin gray hair and a large bald dome. Though his features clearly showed his advanced age, he was still fairly healthy. That or he was the only individual here who was trustworthy enough to lead the extraction of the data cache from within the Ancient Abyss.

The gray-haired man noticed the approaching Mandalorians and commanded his raiders to attack the Supercommandos. As the crazed trandoshans attacked the Mandalorian intruders, the gray-haired man turned to the dark figure standing to his side. The figure was a full head taller than the gray-haired man, encased in dull, silver armor the figure's face was covered by a silver-red mask. The armor was covered in a black cloak with red trim, marking the figure as a Sith. The cloak he wore was unusual in that it had short sleeves which went half way down the figure's bicep. Despite the chaos that raged between the Mandalorians and the trandoshan assassins, the silent Sith stood stock still. He did not shift his head, he did not flinch or shift his body, nothing; he just stood there like statue, silent as stone and just as oblivious to the world around him.

The older man looked at the Sith warrior he had been given for the mission and remembered what he had been told about this monster. The power contained in this singular individual could level a city if it were ever fully unleashed. But Mistress Vathila had some kind of control over this man, making him docile and obedient. His power would only be unleashed when he received an order from the designated controller, who at the moment was this gray-haired man. Turning back to the action, the gray-haired man saw that most of the trandoshans had been cut down, soon only the gray-haired man and the silent Sith would remain. Sweat began to form on his wrinkled brow as he turned to the Sith. The old man placed a sweaty hand on the shoulder of the silent Sith, for the first time the Sith moved and turned his head toward his handler. The old man leaned toward the Sith until he was within whispering distance.

"Kill 'em!" said the gray-haired man in a thick Talravian accent.

Upon hearing those words, the Sith came alive. He grabbed his lightsaber and activated the ruby-red blade. Bloodlust born of the simple command he received caused the Sith to attack the Mandalorians, without any regard for himself or his wellbeing. The Sith leapt through the air, lightsaber in hand, twisting his body and spinning like a vortex as he flew through the air toward the Mandalorian Supercommandos. The Sith spun his body in the air until he was parallel to the ground. He moved to land near the closest Mandalorian. As his boots touched the moist floor, the Sith brought his lightsaber down, intending to cut down the Mandalorian by completing the blade's arc which was begun while he was spinning through the air.

The Mandalorian had reacted in the nick of time, raising his blaster to block the Sith's blade. The blaster rifles the Mandalorians used were designed with cortosis-weave frame. The most important trait of the cortosis alloy was its ability to deflect lightsabers, it was just another anti-Jedi tool the Mandalorians possessed in addition to their training to resist the Force. Though he was protected from an untimely end, the Mandalorian was not able to escape uninjured. The lightsaber blade traveled along the edge of the rifle, emitting a shower of fine sparks. The lightsaber continued until it came into contact with the soldier's elbow and quickly passed through his arm. As the blade melted through the armor and severed the Mandalorian's arm, the muscles within the Sith's arm were already moving to visit death upon the next Mandalorian. With his arm now positioned down and to his left, the Sith brought his arm up in a swatting manner and brought the end of the new lightsaber arc to bear on the next Mandalorian, cutting through the soldier's knees.

As the second Mandalorian fell, the Sith tried to impale the next soldier with his lightsaber, but once again the blade was blocked. The Sith only managed a glancing blow off the Mandalorian's shoulder, burning a small hole through the Mandalorian's armor. The entire sequence of attacks had taken place in a single standard second; only the extensive training each Mandalorian received prevented any loss of life, loss of Mandalorian life that is.

Pressing the attack, the Sith turned his attention to the captain of the Mandalorian Supercommandos. Though his physical form was not overly intimidating, the captain's armor was imposing by design. The distinct colors separated him from the group; each color represented a purpose for which the wearer fought. Black was for justice, green was for duty, and blue was for reliability. The primary color was black, this Mandalorian fought for justice, but he was also known for his reliability in performing his duties.

The Sith leapt into the humid air towards the captain intending to bring the blood-red lightsaber down on top of the captain, but just as the blade made contact it stopped. A small silver-green beam had blocked the Sith's attack, mere millimeters from its intended target. Master Tokare had been riding on the back of the Mandalorian captain the whole time they had been inside the Ancient Abyss. Tokare pushed the Sith back and leapt to the wet floor and readied himself for battle. He was careful so as not to step in the acidic blood which had pooled around the nearby crates. Tokare entered the readied stance of the Ataru technique and waited for his foe to engage. The diminutive Jedi did not need to wait long as the Sith launched into a furious attack, battering the Jedi's defenses with a barrage of red light.

Tokare met every strike with one of his own, all the while leaping off the walls and nearby crates. Tokare focused his centuries of experience into a flawless expression of the Ataru technique as only a true master could. The technique allowed Master Tokare to turn his disadvantageous size into a battlefield advantage. He could leap up and fight an enemy of any size; at the same time his tiny frame became almost impossible to hit except by the most skilled opponents. To his credit, the Sith appeared to be one such opponent. His red blade struck Tokare's viridian one without exception. Though he was unable to break Tokare's defenses, the Sith managed to neutralize the size advantage of the small Jedi. The Sith himself appeared to be a master of Ataru as well. He leapt around attempting to confuse Master Tokare and met the Jedi, blow for blow.

As the duel raged on, the Mandalorian Supercommandos slaughtered the remaining thieves, including their pudgy leader, who now laid on the floor with a smoldering whole clearly visible on his balding, wrinkled forehead. All that was left to do was to kill the Sith and secure the crates.

The duel had turned into a stalemate, in an attempt to end the draw the Sith unleashed a stream of Force lightning at Master Tokare. Tokare reached out with his left hand and stopped the lightning and gathered it into ball of electrical energy. The ball continued to gather energy and soon it would be too much for the Jedi to contain. Before it reached a critical mass, Tokare launched the ball toward the Sith. The lightning ball struck the Sith in the head; his body began to convulse as he was electrocuted. Sparks began to shoot out of the back of his head as the circuitry within his helmet was fried. The sparks were contained in the hood of his cloak which still covered his head. The cloak's material caught fire and burned away as the Sith fell to the floor unconscious.

Tokare and the Mandalorian captain approached the Sith as the cloak finished burning away. Captain Ventralis looked at the Sith and then at Tokare who appeared deep in thought as he stared at the unconscious Sith.

"No one was killed, but Hando is missing an arm and Davik won't walk again without prosthetics. We need to remove our wounded so the sarlacc can't get a hold of them." Ventralis said as he absentmindedly scratched at the collar of the red shirt he wore beneath his armor. "We need to secure the cargo, in case there's another attack"

Tokare looked at him a moment before speaking. "Secure the crates, and then focus on the wounded we will."

"I understand the mission comes first, but I saw what this thing did to its other victims." Ventralis said, remembering the storm trooper they had passed on their way to this location. "We can't let that happen to our men."

Tokare just nodded his head as he looked at the Sith. Something was different in the aura the body projected. During the fight, despite the Sith's great power, there was no aura. It was as if the Sith's power were contained, completely trapped within the body. But now Tokare could sense the Sith within the Force, but the Sith's presence was negligible at best. Someone so weak in the Force would not be able to wield a lightsaber, let alone hurl Force lightning at an opponent. There was something very strange about this Sith. As Tokare thought about the unique cargo lying in front of him, Tokare's curiosity grew to the point where it overrode his better judgment and he approached the body. Captain Ventralis joined the Jedi, unsure of what Tokare was planning; whatever happened, Ventralis and his men would be prepared.

The Sith was wearing a red and silver helmet, the designs were very similar to the mask worn by Darth Revan during his time as a Sith Lord. The basic design had later been adopted by Sith Marauder shock-troop units during the Pure Sith War and beyond. The Marauders would wear armor and the same short-sleeved cloak that this Sith had been wearing earlier. Tokare removed the frontal mask from the fallen Sith's helmet, it revealed the pale face of a young human male in his early twenties. He seemed so peaceful lying on the moist floor within the sarlacc's stomach, there was no sign of anger or viciousness on his face, just peaceful rest.

"He's just a kid, no older than my son." Ventralis said in disbelief.

For one so young to wield enough power and skill to defeat several Supercommandos was completely unheard of. Only Mandalore himself and perhaps the Jedi Alana Skywalker would have been able to pull off such a feat so effortlessly. And yet, when felt through the Force, the boy seemed to have no connection to the Force as if he were a stone or a piece of durasteel.

The boy appeared to be a wound in the Force. Master Tokare only knew of Force wounds because of his understanding of history and his knowledge of the Jedi exile, Dacen Vorsut who was himself a wound in the Force after witnessing the carnage of the Battle of Malachor V. Force wounds were not unheard of; several "area-wounds" existed throughout the galaxy. Places of unimaginable genocide, when an entire planet's population was wiped out in a single moment. But a Force wound which existed within a single individual was exceedingly rare and was almost unheard of outside of the Exile and the Sith Lord, Darth Nihilus.

Nihilus, the Lord of Hunger; a frightening prospect to be sure, if this boy possessed the same power as Lord Nihilus he could be a threat to the entire galaxy. Tokare had read the accounts of the Sith Civil War and the memoirs of the Miraluka Jedi, Visas Marr. Her account of the time spent in servitude to the dark lord was truly frightening. Lord Nihilus seemed to suck the life out of anything he was near, to the point that his very presence in the same room could kill a person.

But the boy did not seem nearly as powerful as Lord Nihilus. The boy did not drain the energy of the room; he seemed to merge with the ebb and flow of the Force. However, Tokare could perceive the small amount of Force energy being absorbed into the boy's body. Perhaps this Sith was much weaker than initially suspected, or perhaps this wound had only recently manifested itself. The boy's wound was not as hungry as Darth Nihilus's, but it was enough to completely mask him within the Force. Tokare had not realized the prisoner had escaped until the body of the doctor was found. The old Jedi attempted to find the escapee through the Force, but the boy's aura was so weak that Tokare could not sense it during the escape. Even with the fighter sitting right in front of him, Tokare could just barely feel the boy's Force signature.

Pushing aside his memories and returning to the present, Tokare watched as the boy stepped out of the fighter. The boy discarded his dark brown cloak and activated the yellow lightsaber he had stolen. It came as a great surprise to Tokare, though outwardly he remained passive, as the boy flipped the yellow blade behind his back and assumed the idle stance of the Sith Shien technique. When he faced the boy inside the Ancient Abyss, the young Sith had relied solely on the Ataru technique. Sith Shien was unheard of in this day and age, and throughout history the Shien technique was only very rarely used.

The only true exception to that rule was a man named Starkiller. He was the apprentice of Darth Vader during the Great Jedi Purge. Starkiller had used the Sith Shien technique quite effectively during his time in servitude and slew many of Vader's enemies. He had used the technique and his great connection to the Force to defeat three Jedi Masters, before he was betrayed by his master. After he was redeemed by Jedi Master Rham Kota, Starkiller used his skills to defeat both Darth Vader _and_ Emperor Palpatine.

Using Shien as a base form was highly unusual. Shien by itself was an unsustainable form and must be used in concert with other forms to augment the weaknesses of the reverse grip. To master Shien is to master several forms, making a Shien master an extremely dangerous foe.

* * *

Taral opened the hatch of his fighter and stood up, removing his dark brown cloak in the process. He then jumped out of the fighter and immediately readied himself for combat. Calling the stolen lightsaber to his hand and pointing the yellow blade behind him. It was a most peculiar thing, as Taral was never taught the Sith Shien technique; it just felt natural to hold his blade like that. It was a habit he was never able to rid himself of, much to the chagrin of his master.

_Two dozen Mandalorians and… What the hell is that thing? _Taral thought as he looked upon Master Tokare. _It looks like a troll. But it's very powerful in the Force, it must be a Jedi._

"Surrender dark one. Die here today, you need not." Tokare said.

Tokare's intention was to mitigate the bloodshed that would undoubtedly take place if there were a fight. But Taral looked at this threat as a challenge which could not go unmet. A Jedi had just threatened his life; so he would kill this Jedi who dared to stand against him.

"Don't talk as if this were a life or death struggle for me, fool. You will step aside or _you _will be the one to die, there is no other possible outcome." Taral said as he took stock of his prey.

He counted twenty-three Mandalorians in front of him and dozens more on their way. They were no threat to him, at least not in his mind. No, the only one that gave him pause was the diminutive Jedi sitting in the small hover chair. He had never seen a member of Tokare's species before which made him curious about the impending battle.

"Much hate in your heart I sense. Turn away from the dark side you must. Only great suffering will it lead to." Tokare pleaded.

_Why the fuck is he talking like that? He sounds retarded; hopefully he's mastered the blade better than the Basic language._

"I told you to let it be, troll. But I guess you can't. So now I'll just have to kill you and everyone else on this ship." Taral said as he walked toward Tokare.

The Mandalorians behind the Jedi raised their weapons but did not fire. They were waiting for Master Tokare to make the first move. If he could not defeat Taral, if he needed their help they would step in to stop the young Sith. But as it was they let the Jedi Master do his own thing as they stood by the wayside to support him. Tokare stood in his hover chair and held his lightsaber out in front of him. The blazing viridian blade sprang forth and bathed the small Jedi in silver-green light accentuating his natural green skin.

"Enough blood you have spilled here today. Allow you to kill anyone else, I will not." Tokare said. The tiny Jedi leapt from his chair towards Taral, hoping to catch him off guard.

Taral smiled as the Jedi leapt at him, bringing his lightsaber up in a defensive position Taral caught Tokare's blade and pushed him back. Tokare landed feet-first on the ground before leaping up and jumping off of a nearby fighter plane. Tokare landed above Taral on the wing of a standard Venom Fighter.

_Ataru, simple enough. He'll be dead in no time._

Taral fell back on the Soresu technique, creating an impenetrable barrier with his lightsaber. The blade would be held close to the body and allow for quick blocks and short-range strikes. The style was pure defense, it allowed a master of Soresu protect themselves from any attack, whether from blasters or lightsabers. Soresu was not designed for offense; instead a practitioner would wear out their foes against impenetrable defenses and then strike when the enemy became fatigued. It was doubtful Master Tokare would become worn out by the effort. The acrobatics and the power behind his strikes all stemmed from the Force. Tokare's body would not fatigue until his powers began to burn out.

Instead of waiting for Tokare to pass out, Taral was watching his every move. Waiting for the Jedi to make a mistake which left Taral an opening to exploit. He had learned long ago the value of patience, both in life and in combat. But he was not facing some Sith hot head who would attack without any forethought. No this was a Jedi Master, Taral would need to attack and probe the Jedi's defenses for a weakness. All his efforts and strategizing were leaving Taral's mind fatigued. The migraines which racked his brain upon awakening had never fully dissipated. As a matter-of-fact the duel was increasing the migraine's intensity. He needed to break the stalemate; the pain was weighing too heavily upon his mind, leaving him vulnerable to the Mandalorians who watched the duel from a distance.

Taral did everything he could to keep his face from betraying his inner weakness. Master Tokare seemed to believe the feint and in an attempt to end the duel himself, Tokare used the Force to throw his lightsaber at Taral. The blade spun in a circle as it flew through the air, making it look like a disk of green energy. Taral reached out with the Force, he grabbed the lightsaber and tossed it aside.

It was then that Taral became aggressive; he switched to the Djem So technique and actively attacked the Jedi Master. Djem So was Taral's preferred attack style; it meshed well with his Sith Shien stance, and the aggressive nature of the style meshed well with Taral's personality. Taral brought his saber down hoping to kill the helpless Jedi, but instead his blade was blocked by Master Tokare's lightsaber. In the fraction of a second that it took Taral to attack, the small Jedi had already retrieved his lightsaber. Re-armed, Tokare managed to hold Taral back with a strength that belied his small frame; most of this strength however came from his great connection to the Force.

Tokare had the "high ground" in this duel, still standing on the wing of a fighter slightly higher than Taral's head. To the untrained eye it might appear as though he held the advantage, but in truth they were too evenly matched for anyone to determine the outcome. Tokare leapt from wing to wing trying to disorient the boy and bring him down. But nothing seemed to work, as yellow and viridian blades clashed and met blow for blow.

_Definitely a master, too bad I can't enjoy this the way I used to. I could have a lot of fun with him, but I have to get off this ship. I need to disappear._

Tokare realized there was no advantage to his height. Perhaps he would fare better on the floor where Taral would have to bend over to fight. Master Tokare jumped down from the fighter wing, leaving himself vulnerable for but a fraction of a second. This was all the time Taral needed to exploit this opportunity and bring an end to the duel. Before Tokare's green feet touched the floor he was hit with a massive wave of Force energy which sent him flying into the hanger wall. As Tokare flew through the air, the Force wave spread out and pushed apart the fighters which were on either side of him. He hit the cold duracrete wall with a force that would have killed a normal person, but his connection to the Force allowed him to survive the impact. As his body absorbed the shock of hitting the hanger bay wall, Tokare was immediately hit with a powerful surge of Force lightning.

It was at this moment that the Mandalorians opened fire on Taral who nimbly leapt over the Venom fighter Master Tokare had been jumping on. As he landed, Taral used the Force to hurl the ship at the soldiers on the other side. The gunfire died down as the Mandalorians scrambled to dodge the projectile; four soldiers however could not get out of the way in time. The fighter rolled over their bodies and killed them all instantly. Taral returned to Master Tokare who had fallen unconscious and continued to electrocute him. Another minute of sustained electrical shock would kill the Jedi. But the Mandalorians would not give up; once again they turned their rifles on Taral. Two dozen Mandalorian troopers opened fire. Taral began spinning his blade and deflected blaster bolts back at the soldiers. After a minute of continuous fire the Mandalorians stopped firing; not a single bolt touched Taral. He took a step forward and addressed the group, goading them into attack.

"Your weapons are useless; none of you animals will survive this. Stand down."

He waited a moment until a lone Mandalorian stepped forward and drew his sword. Others did the same, unsheathing their vibroblades. The lone soldier led the charge and rushed at Taral who vaulted over him and effortlessly cut off his head. More Mandalorians attacked, though they were more cautious. They managed to avoid being struck down by the swirling yellow beam of Taral's lightsaber. The Mandalorian captain watched as his men engaged the young Sith. Captain Ventralis of Clan Ordo had been transferred to the Gayiyli for the mission to recover the artifact cache on Felucia. It had brought him great personal honor to be hand chosen for this mission. Though he had not been chosen by Mandalore himself, there was still honor in serving Mandalore none the less.

Ventralis had once been an Alliance operative, for twelve years he served the Federation and protected its people. But his sense of duty and loyalty were compromised after his superiors learned of his true loyalties to President Penaria. In an attempt to remove a possible spy in their midst they labeled him a traitor and a fugitive. Ventralis was forced to flee to Mandalorian space and seek refuge amongst the Mandalorian people. Ventralis told them of his plight and asked to be brought into their culture. Though many were weary of his motives, they eventually found they could trust him and welcomed him into the Mandalorian Union. Ventralis was then adopted by an influential family from Clan Ordo. That influence was part of the reason he was chosen for the mission, but his skills and reliability were the main factors as to why he received this assignment.

It was to be a simple snatch and grab mission. They landed in the mushroom forests of Felucia and attempted to recover the artifacts contained in an underground vault. But when they reached the cache they had found it to be breached by a group of a dozen or more assassins. The same assassins that attacked the temple on Rakata Prime, but this time only one of them wielded a lightsaber. While the trandoshan assassins used tremor swords, the dark Jedi wielded a red lightsaber. And it was this very dark Jedi who was now fighting every member of Ventralis's team. It seemed unusual that a Force user would cause such trouble to Mandalorians. After all, every Mandalorian goes through extensive training to resist the Force, to the point where many could resist a Force push. But the way this Sith was tossing them around suggested that he was immensely powerful and if they continued to fight like this they would all die.

When Captain Ventralis realized that Taral was too powerful to be taken down by conventional methods, he ordered one of his snipers to shoot Taral with a tranquilizer dart. The soldier changed out the standard blaster ammunition with a tranq-dart magazine from his utility belt. He took aim at the Sith and pulled the trigger. Taral was preoccupied trying to kill a nearby Mandalorian and could not react quickly enough to stop the dart.

_Ouch… what the hell was that? _Taral ripped the dart out of his neck as he finally killed the Mandalorian who had distracted him. The dart had seemingly no effect on him as he continued his fight for freedom.

Captain Ventralis cursed as he realized the tranq-dart had no effect. He ordered several more shots be fired, but Taral was prepared and easily deflected and dodged the next wave of darts. It was at this time that Taral reached out with the Force and lifted several space craft into the air and began hurling them at the Mandalorians; crushing several Mandalorians in their wake. The only hope they had was for Ventralis to get close to Taral and stab him with multiple darts. Ventralis grabbed a magazine with five darts and rushed towards the Sith warrior. The barbs of the darts stuck out the side of the magazine making it an effective, though crude, delivery system. Ventralis snuck up behind Taral, but before he was able to stab him with the darts, Ventralis found himself on the receiving end of a Force lightning bolt. Taral looked at this Mandalorian who carried himself as a leader and electrocuted him once more to bring him to his knees.

"Mandalorian scum, you cannot stand against me. And yet you struggle and fight even though you know you cannot win." Taral spat with unconcealed hatred. "Even animals should learn not to stick their noses where it hurts."

A female soldier came up behind Taral wielding a Mandalorian vibroblade. She raised her blade high and prepared to strike, Believing Taral to be distracted by her captain. But before she could embed the blade in Taral's neck he spun around and cut off her hands. As she screamed in pain, staring at the smoldering stumps which were once her wrists, she did not notice Taral preparing for the next strike which removed her head.

While this was happening however, Captain Ventralis regained his footing and rushed toward Taral. Ventralis drove the darts into Taral's neck as the lightsaber pasted through the woman's neck. All five tranquilizers emptied their contents into Taral's blood stream. Shock and outrage plastered Taral's pale face. Captain Ventralis gave a small victorious smile, though it was short lived as Taral spun around and brought his lightsaber up in a diagonal strike. The blade cut through Ventralis's abdomen and severed his left arm. As the poor captain crumbled to the floor, Taral began to feel the effect of the tranquilizers even as he ripped the darts out of his neck.

_Oh no… the sedatives are… they're… _Taral stumbled and braced himself with his left hand on the floor. It would take all of his strength and concentration to keep this fight going. _Have to kill them… I can't go back…_

Taral kept fighting despite the great fatigue he felt, but the tables had turned and now he was on the defensive. One of the Mandalorians saw an opening and hit Taral in the back of the head as hard as she could with the butt of her rifle. Taral fell to his knees in pain, the damaged tissue of his previous wound screaming at him in pain as it was further inflamed by the latest strike. As he brushed aside the pain, he made an attempt to stand only to find the butt of the rifle hitting him for the second time. He fell, belly first, to the floor and gave one last attempt to stand before being struck a third time; the final hit rendering him unconscious. The soldier who struck the blow raised her rifle in the air to crush Taral's skull and avenge the lives of everyone Taral had just killed.

"ENOUGH!"

The soldier turned to see Master Tokare struggling to his feet, having regained consciousness.

"Not to be killed he is. Around his neck, attach a Force suppression band and in solitary confinement place him." Tokare said.

The remaining Mandalorians moved to carry out Tokare's orders. The majority of the reinforcements from throughout the ship had arrived near the end of the battle; with the fighting over, most turned their attention to their dead and dying brethren. All of them were in shock by the carnage, though they performed their duties without showing their inner turmoil. Tokare looked at the boy as two soldiers picked him up and moved him out of the hanger. There were too many questions that needed to be answered and Javen would likely take great interest in this boy, if they could subdue him. Tokare reasoned that with a suppression collar the boy would be no threat. They must have used a faulty collar the first time he was caged, or perhaps it had not been properly secured.

"Working and attached properly, make sure the suppression collar is" Tokare said, as the Mandalorians dragged the young Sith out of the hanger bay.

* * *

**Author's Commentary:**

For each chapter I'm going to provide information at the end in the form of commentaries. I will provide information on character development as well as chapter development. I'll explain how I conceived my ideas as well as what the chapters and characters originally looked like.

**Chapter 1 Concepts:**

Chapter one was always meant to encompass Taral's escape and as such, the final draft is very similar to the original concept.

Most of the specifics were finalized later, for instance in the rough drafts Felucia was always referred to as [insert planet name]. Originally I had to choose a way for Taral to come to Javen's attention, either Taral would attack a data cache or he would attack Javen's brother Telan Onasi. The data cache was both simpler and made more sense. After all, the Sith probably don't even know that Telan is Javen's brother.

Originally Taral was supposed to decimate the Mandalorian ranks. He killed about three dozen Mandalorians and made very short work of Master Tokare. But rangermike thought it was a little much, so he asked me to tone it down, which I did. Instead of weakening Taral, I exaggerated his exhaustion and pain; I also made sure that the Mandos were portrayed as highly skilled individuals with the best anti-Jedi equipment in the galaxy. So basically, Taral could have killed everyone and tossed aside Tokare, but because of the circumstances he was not at full power, and because he was in a weakened state, the Mandalorians could take advantage.

I also wanted to portray him as weakened when under another's control. I didn't come out and write that, I was hoping to be subtle and let him attack the Mandalorians without killing any inside the Ancient Abyss.

I also took the opportunity to perform a little retcon with Tokare's lightsaber. I just like the idea of important characters having slightly unique if not completely unique equipment. Plus, Tokare is a gray-Jedi who has lived for centuries outside the Jedi Order, so why not give him a unique blade. So I changed the color of his blade from green to viridian (silvery-green) which was my favorite color from KotOR 2. So now Tokare uses an extremely rare lightsaber crystal, instead of the generic green.

**Character Concepts:**

**Taral**

The rogue Sith frame work has existed in my mind for many years, but it was eventually fleshed out for this story arc.

When "The Force Unleashed" came out I decided to make Taral a descendant of Starkiller, hence the reverse grip. After playing the game I realized it would be impossible since Starkiller dies at the end and never had kids. Though it is still possible to use the Starkiller descendant concept, depending on what happens in "The Force Unleashed 2" which comes out later this year. But most likely, they will kill him off yet again, since it wouldn't make sense for such a powerful Jedi to be absent from the rebellion unless he died early on.

Originally Taral was designed to be a Jedi with Sith training (i.e. a very nice guy who happens to use the darkside of the force). But as I developed him, I wrote a scene where he was apologizing to someone, and I said to myself: "Taral's a douche bag". I decided to give him darker morals, you didn't see much of them in this chapter, but they will definitely be expanded in future chapters. There will no longer be any doubt that this man is a Sith.

I designed him to be Javen's negative, his opposite. They both have the same basic history (i.e. childhood trauma involving the deaths of their family members), but whereas Javen rejected the darkside, Taral embraced it.

The concept of a Force wound nullifying the effects of a Force suppression collar was brought to my attention after reading the second chapter of "Dark Redemption" by Scythe404 at . I borrowed the concept and adapted it to my story. I wanted to expand the explanation while simultaneously making no mention of midi-chlorians. I find the concept of explaining the force away as bacteria to be very stupid. It was also important that I make it impossible to imprison him. That will undoubtedly factor into future chapters.


	2. Onderon-Dxun

Thanks to the overwhelming number of reviews (zero) I have decided to add chapter two. Hope you enjoy and please feel free to drown me in reviews just like you did last time, you fuckers. I will update the picture folder in the "Descended from Heroes and Villians" yahoo group, feel free to sign up and check it out.

* * *

**The sound of blaster-fire filled the air. A distant scream down the street. An endless stream of silver armor pouring through the city.**

"**Stay down. No matter what happens, you stay right here."**

**A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair said as he shoved a young boy into a large ventilation shaft cut into the wall near the floor. The shape of their faces, the similarities of their features made it clear that they were father and son. Fear gripped the boy, combined with the strong desire to fight alongside his father. But the boy was a sickly creature who was too weak to walk, let alone fight.**

**His father turned to leave after leaning the vent cover across the opening, making it appear closed but not actually sealing his son away. As he turned away from his son the door to the room slid open and two Mandalorian shock-troopers stepped in and opened fire. A dozen blaster-bolts caught the boy's father in the torso causing him to spin around and collapse face first to the ground, bleeding profusely from the damaged organs which were now exposed to the world.**

**The Mandalorians stood over the wounded man, their faces obscured by their armored helmets. But their stances betrayed the sadistic smirks their faces no doubt wore. They were in control, and they loved that kind of power. **

"**Tlon Fett sends his regards." One of the Mandalorians said as they both raised their blaster rifles and aimed them at the prone body at their feet.**

**The wounded man just lay there, unmoving except for the labored rising and falling of his shoulders as he struggled to take a few shallow breaths. His thoughts shifted to his family, he had failed. He could no longer protect them; he could no longer protect his only son. He watched as his killers raised their weapons, with his mind elsewhere he could not hear their taunts. He clenched his hands in resolute certainty, his left hand curled into a fist and his right hand squeezed the leather handle of his combat knife.**

**Before the Mandalorians were able to kill him, the boy's father used the last of his strength to launch himself at the nearest Mandalorian. The armor they wore was weakest at the joints, this allowed for more freedom of movement. The knife pierced the outer fabric and lodged itself in the Mandalorian's knee. The serrated edge of the blade cut through the tendons and connective tissue, rendering the knee useless and causing the Mandalorian to fall. **

**With his strength spent, the boy's dying father collapsed on his belly. And so he died to the sounds of a screaming Mandalorian and of blaster bolts ripping into his back.**

Taral awoke from his nightmare only to be overwhelmed by the extraordinary pain emanating from the back of his skull. A souvenir he received earlier in the day during his escape attempt. The butt of a Mandalorian rifle had been repeatedly slammed into the damaged tissue on the back of his head and now he was suffering from one of the worst migraines in the galaxy. His vision was filled with white spots and blurry images; it was enough to make him nauseous.

As his vision cleared he could make out the handful of figures standing in front of him. One of them was a doctor dressed in a white lab coat, the rest were soldiers dressed in jungle combat gear. The gear was styled with green camouflage patterns and consisted of loose fitting fabric, with armored sections covering only the most vital parts of the body. With the Mandalorians around him catalogued in Taral's mind, he turned his attention to the room which he and his captors were currently occupying. It was a small storage room, hastily converted into a holding cell. Permanent military camps would have a dedicated prison facility, the ad hoc construction of the prison cell meant Taral was most likely being held at a temporary camp.

A temporary camp would only possess a few containment restraints like the set Taral found himself in. His arms and legs were spread out and held in place by fabric straps which were then incased in metal. The only visible part of Taral's body was his face, which was slightly obscured by the fabric and metal which held his head in place.

The doctor approached Taral, shining a small flashlight in his eyes. The blinding light did nothing to quell the pain in Taral's skull; in fact the light stimulated his pain receptors. The light made Taral's migraine ten times worse, he began to feel nauseous and ready to vomit when he started yelling at the doctor.

"Cut that shit out! You're gonna make me puke."

"How do you feel?" The doctor asked in a neutral tone.

"Like shit. Why do you care? Tlon Fett doesn't take prisoners."

"Tlon Fett? We aren't part of his rebellion! We follow the true Mandalore, Javen Panlie."

"Panlie?" The realization that Javen Panlie was involved only served to anger Taral. "Fuck Panlie! And fuck you too, asshole!"

"I'd watch that mouth of yours. I'm the one holding your life in my hand."

The doctor grabbed a nearby IV needle and removed the sterile cap. The needle was connected to an IV tube which was in turn connected to a small machine on a nearby table. Taral recognized the device as an automated IV pump, it could be programmed to administer a specific about of fluid through the IV; most of the time these devices are used to administer liquid painkillers to burn victims. The doctor searched for a vein near Taral's left elbow, it was the only part of his body, aside from his face, which was exposed. When the doctor found his target, he roughly shoved the needle into Taral's skin hoping to hear a yelp of pain from the prisoner. But Taral remained passive and did not even flinch when his flesh was punctured; he refused to let the doctor obtain any satisfaction.

"Enjoy your petty torments while you can, you'll be the first to die."

"Bold words for a dead man." The doctor said as he resumed attaching the IV needle, eliciting a small smirk from Taral.

"What is that? Morphine?"

"No… it's meperidine."

"Liquid Demerol? Oh sweet nectar! You're the best. Come on, fill me with that shit."

The doctor ignored Taral's enthusiasm and set the machine to administer 10cc's of Demerol every sixty minutes. This was the standard dosage recommended for non-Force users, the doctor was well aware that the Force would clear the Demerol from Taral's system almost immediately. This was the doctor's subtle attempt at revenge for the Mandalorians that Taral had killed; he was sworn to help ease the suffering of others, by giving Taral an ineffective amount of painkillers the doctor could fulfill his oath while simultaneously inflicting a dull agony upon his patient.

"One dose? That won't get me high!" Taral said with great frustration.

This statement probably raised a few eyebrows amongst the Mandalorians. It certainly gave the doctor pause; he stood up and stared at Taral with a quizzical look plastered upon his face.

"I mean, um, I'm in a lot of pain. Yeah, a lot of pain and one dose simply won't cut it. Um… oh my head, it hurts… uh, ouch."

"We'll keep you at one dose" The doctor said dismissively.

"You suck."

Taral watched as the Mandalorians left him in this room, before turning his gaze to the Demerol pumping machine. It was set to administer one dose every sixty minutes, but there was also a manual override button. Every time the button was pressed the machine would administer one dose of Demerol, regardless of the time between injections.

Taral used the Force to remove the suppression band from around his neck, just as he did aboard the Gayiyli. This time his mind was not focused escape, instead it was distracted by the opportunity to feed his body's addictions. His higher thought processes were silenced and sealed away behind the fog of addiction.

With the Force once more under his command, Taral used it to press the override button. He remained still as the extra dose of Demerol flooded his veins. He had not even attempted to extricate himself from the elaborate binding the Mandalorians had affixed to him. As the narcotics took effect his excitement grew and he began pressing the button, faster and faster. Over 500cc's of Demerol were injected through the IV, it would have easily been enough to kill Taral if he were not so strong in the Force.

His vision exploded in euphoria as his mind was affected by the drugs in his system. His dull earthly form gave way to the bright colors of a children's cartoon. It was an intoxicating feeling, further amplified through his Force enhanced senses. But the Force is a double-edged sword for a drug addict. Though it produces a more intense high, the Force also works to purge the body of impurities. This leads to a decrease in the amount of time a Force-user can remain intoxicated. To maintain his high, Taral would have to constantly increase his Demerol intake every time his high wore off.

But for now, as his high reached its apex, Taral was content to float amongst the stars in a drug induced haze. He felt himself floating in zero-gee, his prison had given way to the vastness of the universe. His body floated in orbit around a gas giant planet with enormous, vibrant rings. The sound of an electric guitar playing in his ear as he floated toward a black speeder with a convertible top and a red bird made of fire painted on the hood.

Taral then drove the speeder to a nearby moon. The sound of old rock music blaring in his ears as his speeder flew across the desert canyon below him. As he was flying he saw something on the canyon floor, it appeared to be a person. Flying lower for a closer look he saw it was a human woman with enormous breasts. She had long, flowing brunette hair and she wore nothing but a leather bikini and a cowboy hat. She stared at Taral with her hands on her hips and a sultry smirk upon her face.

Taral landed the speeder and slid over into the passenger seat, letting the woman take the wheel as he stared at her generous mounds. His face was split by the gleeful, toothy grin of a child, or a horny idiot. The woman did not seem to notice as she piloted the speeder toward a small town on the horizon. Every building seemed to be a dome, with an unusual structure capping the top; each building mimicking a woman's breast.

The speeder was brought to land near the entrance of a great mammary fortress. The woman left the speeder and beckoned Taral to follow, her swaying hips leading him in a trance. They passed through a hallway filled with honor guards on either side. They were men who wore elegant armor which, like everything else in Taral's drugged out mind, were made to incorporate the image of a woman's breasts.

As they passed the honor guards, Taral and the large breasted woman entered a large throne room where the king of the boob dimension sat upon a mammary throne. He regarded Taral for a moment and nodded to the woman who then approached a nearby pool and water fountain and began to disrobe. The king turned back to Taral and addressed him in a booming voice.

"I see that you are enticed by my daughter's awesome, rocking tits! I command you to bath with my daughter in the Fountain of Varnoth. Appease the gods by lathering her boobs with soapy suds."

Taral let out a scream of adolescent joy and began to franticly rip off his clothes while running toward the naked princess in the pool. As his pants fell to the ground he tripped in his exuberance, but quickly recovered and sprinted toward the pool.

But the closer he got, the farther away the water seemed to be. He ran as fast as he could, desperate to feel the soft flesh of the royal mammaries. But his vision clouded and the boob dimension dissolved away until he found himself back in his cell, surrounded by half a dozen Mandalorians and Master Tokare.

"What? NO! No, no, no." Taral started to whimper as his high was purged by the Mandalorian doctor to his right. "Those tits were so beautiful and the world was so perfect. And now I'm stuck in this shithole again. Fuck!"

The doctor finished his work and took a step back. He was an older man with black hair and gray sideburns. His work complete he turned to the small green figure sitting in a hover chair near the door to the prison cell.

"He should be sober enough to communicate with you, Master Tokare. If there is nothing else I'd like to get back to work." The doctor said.

Tokare could sense the man's reservations regarding the prisoner. The doctor was a Mandalorian and Taral's actions called for blood. But duty to Mandalore prevented him from outright refusing to help Taral recover from his hour-long high.

"Thank you doctor." Tokare said without hesitation. "Appreciated, your assistance is."

The Doctor nodded an acknowledgement and quickly left the room. Leaving Taral encased in his restraints while half-a-dozen Mandalorians kept their rifles aimed at his exposed face.

"Removed your collar I see. How?"

Taral ignored the question and looked around the room. There were six Mandalorians standing before him, each kept a blaster rifle pointed at his face. The hatred emanating from the soldiers was palpable; it stained the air with an intoxicating fog. But the discipline which was forced into their heads over the years kept them from entertaining such thoughts of revenge. They would only fire if ordered to so, or if Taral posed a legitimate threat to themselves or others.

Taral finally turned his attention to the small, green alien hovering in front of him. A quiet hum emanated from the small hover chair that Master Tokare was currently sitting in. Taral looked at the small Jedi as his head began to clear, a gentle anger building within him as he looked upon Master Tokare. The idea that he, Taral, was the one locked in a cage instead of this alien was absolutely infuriating. Taral was about to bury his anger, when he noticed a small glint of light partially obscured by Tokare's tunic.

"Bianca?" Taral said in quiet, confused tone.

The glint Taral saw was the unmistakable pommel of his lightsaber. Taral had an unusual attachment to his blade, almost as if he considered it to be a living thing. A few months after building it, Taral named it Bianca and began attributing organic qualities to it, as if it had a personality.

No one was allowed to touch Bianca, Tokare had defiled her by laying his hands upon the reflective metal and dull black handgrips. This knowledge pushed Taral over the edge, gathering his anger he began to crush and split the metal capsule surrounding his body. The steel shrieked as it was torn to pieces, splitting along the weakest portions. As his arms and legs were revealed, Taral ripped the straps off and climbed out of his restraints.

The Mandalorians had taken a step back, never taking their rifles off Taral. Their anxiety was building to almost unmanageable levels, but they remained stoic as they watched their Sith prisoner brush off the metal shavings that clung to the tattered Jedi tunic he was wearing.

Taral reached his hand out and used the force to call his lightsaber to his hand; the gathered Mandalorians tightened their grips on their blasters but they never fired. Taral ignored them, his attention completely focused on his blade. He caressed the pommel, touching the small buttons and knobs. As if he were embracing an old lover he had not felt for some time.

"Hello Bianca, did ya miss me baby?" Taral said in a gently whisper, rubbing the pommel against his face as if he were nuzzling his lover's neck. "They didn't hurt you did they?"

Tokare watched the scene unfold, though he kept his face passive his mind was trying desperately to process the spectacle he was observing. Taral was a peculiar specimen, a wound in the Force with the ability to neutralize Force suppression bands. That fact alone made Taral a most unusual individual, but now he was practically having sex with his lightsaber. Tokare assumed the boy was slightly unhinged, maybe even a little unstable.

"Don't you ever touch my Bianca again you little turd!" Taral said.

"Undamaged your lightsaber was. Held onto it I did."

"Good, now I need a room of my own and a change of clothes."

"Changed the situation has not, a prisoner you are. Allow you to walk around freely, we cannot."

"Oh yeah? Well ass-my-kiss!" Taral said while mimicking Master Tokare's broken speech pattern. "You're gonna let me go because you know I'll kill anyone who gets in my way. So I'll tell you what, Troll. Stay the fuck out of my way and I won't cause any trouble. Think you can handle that?"

Tokare analyzed the situation; the memories of fighting the young Sith in the hanger of the ship Gayiyli were still fresh in the old Master's mind. Seven soldiers were killed in that fight, seven men and women who gave their lives in an attempt to stop the escaped Sith. The crew of the Gayiyli had succeeded in subduing their prisoner, but the cost was too great. It was something Tokare hoped to avoid and the only option available was to placate Taral and pacify him with the limited freedom the camp offered. The camp was too small and too important to the cause to allow the boy to kill anyone else, it was equally important to keep the camp hidden until Mandalore arrived in the next few days.

Though the boy was almost invisible to Tokare's sense, the old master was able to sense the truth in Taral's words. The boy just wanted to be left alone and so long as he was not attacked, Taral would not try to kill anyone.

"Very well, a room we will give you. And a new set of clothes."

"Great, come find me when everything's golden. Oh, and get me a bottle of painkillers. Strong ones, my skull feels like it's fractured."

Taral began walking out of his cell, only to have his way blocked by the Mandalorians. Their weapons raised, they would not allow Taral to leave without a specific order from Master Tokare. Taral looked at the soldiers with disgust, the sort of expression someone wears when they see a home infested with insects or rodents. Taral turned his annoyance to anger and gathered the Force around him before unleashing a shockwave that knocked the Mandalorians to the ground. Others were thrown into the walls of the cell, but no one was injured and the soldiers quickly regained their balance and trained their weapons on Taral as he slowly walked out into the humid air of Dxun.

"Stand down. Only death will occur, afford it we cannot." Master Tokare said as the soldiers reluctantly lowered their weapons.

Tokare shared their reluctance, but what could any of them do? Taral was dangerous and worse, he could not be restrained by any prison they built. Tokare wondered if the only thing that could contain the Sith was the presence of a ysalamir. Ysalamir were furry, lizard-like creatures from the planet Myrkr, they generated an energy field around them which neutralized all Force energy. They created dead spots in the fabric of the universe, where the Force did not exist.

Taral continued on his way, ignoring the thoughts of Master Tokare and the gathered Mandalorians. Instead he looked outside his cell at the moon known as Dxun; it was an entire planet of humid rainforest and vicious predators. It was raining, as it always does; drenching the landscape in a sheen of warm water. It was predatory planet, where life struggled against the odds and produced some of the most vicious beasts in the galaxy.

Before Javen Panlie, the current Mandalore, had arrived at the Onderon-Dxun system, he had ordered the construction of a small, temporary military camp on Dxun. Panlie needed to extract the artifacts hidden away on the jungle moon. He wanted to obtain permission from the Onderonian King before proceeding with the extraction. But if the King's permission was not forthcoming, then the Mandalorians were prepared to remove the artifacts without the King's go-ahead. After all, preservation of the artifacts took precedent over everything else, including peaceful relations between Onderon and the Mandalorian Union.

Taral stood near a small waterfall, cascading from the top of a small cliff. The cliff itself appeared to be a small mesa, maybe three-hundred yards in diameter. The top was almost completely flat, which meant the waterfall was likely fed by a fresh water spring. The spring flowed through small, natural tubes which pierced the mesa from top to ground level. Much like a volcano, only it flowed with cool water instead of molten lava.

Turning his back to the waterfall, Taral looked upon the small camp the Mandalorians had established. No more than four dozen soldiers called this place home. Taral could see them milling about, preparing everything so that when the order came to move out, they would be prepared. Taral could sense the presence of three Jedi, one of them was Master Tokare; the others were clearly "official" Jedi. Recognition of the others as members of the Jedi Order brought a look of disdain to Taral's features. He hated the Jedi Order more than anything, but his views were based less on Sith dogma and more on his personal political beliefs. The Jedi were weak and corrupt, and while that is the perfect scenario for someone looking to destroy the Jedi, Taral held no such aspirations. Instead he wanted a challenge, he wanted to fight. But the Jedi of today did not pose any real challenge; they were worthless in his eyes.

Taral walked up to a small pre-fabricated shack near the edge of the camp. This tiny hut acted as a supply kiosk, it was a small, mobile store which provided basic supplies to the Mandalorians in the encampment. Toiletries, foodstuffs, and even alcohol which seemed very unusual given the size of the store and the fact that this was a military operation. On the shelf behind the clerk were several packs of cigarettes from various producers in Mandalorian space. The sight of the cigarettes made Taral's eyes widen in excitement, Taral had been a chain-smoker before he was enslaved by the Sith.

"Oh thank god. Gimme a pack of smokes."

The clerk at the kiosk just crossed his arms and glared at Taral.

"I don't serve your kind here. Why don't you get out of here before I throw you out!"

Taral's smile slowly disappeared behind a mask of annoyance.

"Listen dipshit, either you give me the smokes and I pay you, or I take them and probably kill you."

"Fine, fine. What brand do you want? What type?"

"Gimme the Kassa menthols."

"Here, that'll be 50 credits." The store clerk said in a defeated tone as he set the black and red box filled with a dozen cigarettes on the kiosk coutertop.

Taral was speaking the truth when he told the man that denying the purchase could cost him his life and there was no honor in being murdered over a pack of cigarettes. Taral scanned his thumbprint and withdrew fifty credits from one of his financial accounts.

**Thank you for your purchase, Mr. Brutananadilewski.** The store clerk raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet as the computer said the unusual name.

With the money transferred, Taral grabbed the cigarettes and quickly ripped open the box. A single paper stick was placed in Taral's mouth. The Kassa brand cigarette used black paper to wrap the various species of tobacco and tabac contained within; only the finest strains from across the galaxy were used by Kassa. The small filter at the end was colored red, the company's trademark color. The colors were designed to appeal to consumers and to distinguish Kassa from lesser brands.

Taral cupped his hand near the cigarettes tip, as if to block the wind so he could light it. But instead of using a lighter, Taral used the Force to excite the molecules within the cigarettes tip until it finally smoldered to life. Taral took a deep drag on the cigarette, letting the flavorful smoke fill his lungs while the nicotine calmed his nerves. His nerves sated, Taral turned back to the kiosk and began to peruse its wares once more. Taral purchased an overnight kit which contained several basic nighttime essentials including a toothbrush and a single-blade razor. After paying for the small kit Taral turned to leave and found himself face to face with one of the camp's soldiers.

"Master Tokare has instructed me to show you to your quarters."

The soldier led Taral to a small hut near the cell he had been imprisoned in. The soldier pointed to the hut and left without saying anything else. As Taral walked up to the hut, the metal door slid open and allowed him to step inside. It was a small room with a fluorescent light on the ceiling and a small cot against the right wall. The room was no more than five feet by ten feet, little more than a storage container, but it would do.

In the middle of the cot was a pile of clothes, three sets of black and gray casual wear were neatly folded and stacked. A small plastic bottle sat on top; it was filled with several dozen pills, the painkillers Taral had requested. Stripping out of the ratty Jedi apparel Taral had stolen during his escape; Taral grabbed at the pile of clothes and quickly dressed himself. The clothes were loose-fitting for easy movement, but snug enough so that he did not swim in the fabric. It was a standard set of off-duty military wear, black pants and a dark gray, short-sleeved shirt. The clothes fit Taral perfectly, as did the pair of gray socks and black combat boots near the door.

Stepping outside in his fresh new clothes, Taral decided to continue his exploration of the camp. He barely walked ten feet before noticing a medium-sized building nearby. Sensing that no one was inside, Taral opened the door and found himself inside the camp's armory. Weapons hung on the walls, munitions were neatly organized on tables and shelves, and there was even a secure cabinet on the far side of the room filled with explosives. Against the back wall was a large workbench covered with spare parts and tools which had been left out. The bench had five stools lined up in front of it; though the workbench was designed to hold five occupants it could have easily held ten.

Taral noticed an abandoned blaster rifle on a nearby table and decided to steal it. He brought it to the workbench and used a hydrospanner to adjust the weapon's settings. Modifying weapons was an old skill of his, it helped take his mind off of things and in that way it was a form of meditation. Taral realigned the barrel and sights to increase accuracy and reduce overheating. He replaced several components including the internal targeting hard drive.

Everything was going well until Taral felt the approach of a Jedi through the Force. He turned as the Jedi came up behind him. It was a twi'lek, a female twi'lek who had disturbed his passive meditations. She looked young, perhaps in her twenties like Taral. But she was not as colorful as others of her species were. She had dark tan skin; her skin pigmentation was reminiscent of human skin. She had brilliant blue eyes which were unusual for her species as most had dull ocular coloration. Twi'leks and humans seem to be opposites in that fashion; with twi'leks having colorful skin and bland eyes, while humans had bland skin and colorful eyes. She had full red lips, though Taral could not tell whether they were naturally red or if she were wearing lipstick, though his mind was on other things as he eyed the Jedi's face. Taral allowed his mind to wander to the darker passions he felt and allowed a stray thought to wander into his mind from one of the darker areas.

_I bet she gives great head with lips like those._

Aside from her physical features she wore standard Jedi robes which were unusual for a twi'lek woman, as most would wear highly revealing Jedi attire. But this alien-girl was different; she wore full robes like any other Jedi would. Though they were a standard design, there was nothing standard about the colors she chose. She wore black boots and black pants with a blue belt and a white tunic. Framing the entire outfit was a jet black cloak. Despite the bulk of her robes, they still clung to her body tightly enough to outline her distinctly feminine curves. Her lightsaber hung from her right hip, which probably meant she was left-handed. She walked up to Taral and introduced herself.

"Hi, my name's Numa'lestin. But you can call me Numa."

Numa bent at the hip and gave Taral a small bow. Taral stared at her for a moment, long enough for her to realize she was not welcome in his presence. Taking a small drag on his cigarette, Taral decided against ignoring the girl and opened his mouth to introduce himself, expelling a small cloud of maroon smoke as he did so.

"I'm Taral." He said.

His tone was neutral and would remain that way until he could ascertain this Jedi's motives. Taral gently probed her surface thoughts, sifting through the information that she was broadcasting to the world. Her mental barriers were almost nonexistent, but Taral was careful not to probe too deep. He enjoyed the subtle power of reading another's thoughts without them noticing. He could have easily broken through the Jedi's barriers and absorbed her knowledge as if he were reading a cheap holo-novel, but that would have broken the illusion and the Jedi would know what Taral was doing.

Oblivious to Taral's actions, the young Jedi dragged a stool out from under the workbench and sat down next to Taral. She had seen him enter the armory and hoped to talk to him; since he did not appear to be a Mandalorian she figured he might be friendlier than the soldiers in the camp. As she settled in the stool she noticed the lightsaber hanging from Taral's hip. Without considering the consequences, Numa reached for the lightsaber and nearly brushed her fingers against the pommel. But Taral was too fast for her to succeed, reaching out with his left hand he grabbed Numa's left shoulder and pinned her to the workbench with his forearm across her collarbone. He then ignited his lightsaber and held the red blade to her face.

"Don't ever touch my Bianca! Got it?" Taral whispered in a menacing tone.

Numa did not respond, too frightened and confused to speak, she merely nodded an acknowledgement. Taral released his grip and deactivated his lightsaber before sitting back down on his stool and continuing his work on the blaster rifle. Numa slowly pushed herself off the workbench and brushed off her robes, before settling in next to Taral. Both of them were silent for several moments, before Numa broke the silence with an obvious question.

"That lightsaber was red wasn't it? Red is forbidden, where did you get it?"

"I built Bianca a couple years back. Why would red be outlawed?"

"It is the mark of the Sith."

"All the more reason for me to use it. I was never a part of your Order anyway."

"So you're a Mandalorian?"

"NO! Don't ever compare me to those animals, you bitch!"

"Settle down Taral, be at peace." Numa said, trying to mitigate the raw hatred emanating from the man she was conversing with.

It was a little disconcerting to see a man wielding a red lightsaber. A man who clearly had no desire to control his emotions. It would have been more terrifying if she had had any idea just how powerful he really was. With the Force wound masking Taral's true power, Numa did not feel the terror she should have. Instead she felt that he was just a mediocre Force user who had great reflexes and who was heading down the wrong path.

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion."

"Passion?"

"Yeah, through passion I gain strength, through strength I gain power, through power I gain victory, through victory my chains are broken. To achieve true power, true freedom, you must sever all the chains that bind you to weakness. Or you could just stop giving a shit and do whatever makes you happy. Either way works."

"That's a selfish outlook on life. I'm surprised you'd bother memorizing such an odd mantra."

"The Code of the Sith is nothing more than a guideline, it is open to interpretation and its meaning differs for each person. What makes one strong will weaken another. You learn the words long before you understand their meaning."

"Sith Code! What do you know about the Sith?"

"Plenty, since I am a Sith. The Sith Code is my creed and I use it to strengthen myself and my resolve. My chains still shackle me to weakness, though I do what I can to break those chains and become stronger."

"But the Sith were wiped out centuries ago and all records were sealed by the Jedi Council."

"We Sith are eternal, so long as the Jedi exist, so long as Sith artifacts are preserved, we Sith shall endure and prosper as we always have. The Mandalorians didn't tell you who I was?"

"I don't think they like us Jedi. They're not hostile, per se. But they are very cold and curt."

"Hmm, you'd think they'd warn you to stay away… I can be very dangerous."

"I would imagine. The dark side is evil and anyone corrupted by it is also evil."

"Evil is a word used by the ignorant and the weak, the dark side is about survival. It's about unleashing your inner power by glorifying the strength of the individual."

Numa was beginning to feel uneasy. She had very little experience with Dark Jedi, and zero experience dealing with the Sith. The final extinction of the Sith had been drilled into her mind over the years, so she was still having trouble believing Taral's claims. But Numa was not a Master, so she chose to do the smart thing and give Taral the benefit of the doubt.

Numa's curiosity was rising, threatening to overtake her senses. There was a Sith sitting next to her, capable of answering any questions she had about the Sith Order. But curiosity could lead to corruption, Numa needed to be strong and ignore her feelings. Desperate to change the subject, Numa decided to ask Taral about his abilities to modify weapons.

"You're pretty handy with a hydrospanner."

"Yeah, I was an apprentice once."

"To a Sith Lord?"

Numa mentally kicked herself for asking such a question. She was able to change the subject, but she could not change her thoughts. Though she gave off no physical signs of her discomfort, Taral was able to pick up on what she was trying to do. But Taral kept his face stoic and allowed the Jedi to change the subject.

"No… I mean I did train beneath a Sith Lord, but that's not what I'm talking about. I apprenticed under a Baragwin weaponsmith named Idelo Onara. A modern legend, so I hear."

"Onara was killed nearly thirty years ago. You must be mistaken"

Taral stopped his work and glared at Numa for a moment, before turning back to the blaster rifle. As he reconnected several electrical wires and circuits, he finally responded to her skepticism.

"Idelo was taken prisoner by a band of pirates from the outer rim. His family was killed and his residence was burned to the ground. He was stuck with them for over twenty years before I met him."

Taral had finished upgrading the blaster rifle and was reattaching the rifle's polymer casing when he sensed a Mandalorian approaching from behind. Like all other soldiers in the camp there was nothing but contempt for Taral in the soldier's thoughts. Outright anger began to build in the soldier when he saw Taral modifying the blaster rifle on the armory workbench.

"What are you doing to my rifle, Sith scum!"

Taral turned around on his stool and looked at the soldier with a bemused expression on his face. He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, enough time for the soldier to realize he could not intimidate Taral. As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, Taral took the blaster rifle and tossed it to the Mandalorian before explaining the modifications he had installed.

"I increased the energy output, the blaster bolts should be able to punch through hardened ceramic armor. But with the increased energy draw you'll run through an energy pack in half the time, so bring a spare."

The Mandalorian look at the rifle with a curious gaze. Those types of modifications were not only illegal in non-Mandalorian territory, but they were incredibly difficult to accomplish even with the greatest engineering minds in the galaxy. Despite himself, the Mandalorian found a begrudging respect for the Sith's abilities was beginning to grow. The soldier still thought this Sith was scum, but he certainly knew his way around a hydrospanner.

"I also recalibrated the targeting matrix, for some reason the computer wasn't resetting itself after every one-hundred shots. This would've caused the rifle's shots to veer to the left after firing a few thousand times."

The soldier was silent for a moment, processing the information he had just received. If what the Sith said was true, then the soldier now possessed the most advanced blaster rifle in camp.

"I… hmm, thank you." The Mandalorian finally said.

Taral did not respond, he merely gave a small nod to the Mandalorian and turned back to Numa. The soldier was quick to realize the conversation was finished and decided to leave the armory and show the upgraded blaster rifle to his commanding officer. As the Mandalorian left, Taral decided to end the ongoing conversation with the Jedi Numa.

"We'll talk later kid; think about what I've said." Taral said as he stood to leave.

He reattached his lightsaber to his belt and walked out the door, leaving Numa alone with her thoughts. She had come face to face with a real-life Sith; even the Mandalorian had acknowledged that fact. But what should she do about it? The Jedi are sworn to destroy the Sith, no matter what the cost. It was not something she could accomplish on her own, she would need help. But this was a closed-communication camp, no messages could be sent out and only commands from Mandalore could be received. She would have to bide her time until she could formulate a plan.

* * *

As Taral left the Armory he heard a sudden grumble in his stomach and realized for the first time that he had not had anything to eat since arriving on Dxun. Luckily the mess hall was not far and it served food all day long. It was the largest building in the camp, aside from the command center which housed a small hanger. Taral stepped through the large open entrance and scanned the room.

Taral found the mess hall to be slightly deserted, with only a few tables occupied at the time. Every single Mandalorian in the mess hall turned their attention to Taral and focused their anger on him. The pure essence of hatred swirled around the room and Taral drank it up like a fine wine. But the feelings and thoughts of the mess hall patrons were not enough satiate Taral's growing appetite. He approached the mess hall attendant who stood behind the counter with his arms crossed. The hatred emanating from this man was palpable in the air, but Taral just ignored him and gazed at the menu which hung on the wall above the attendant.

Taral placed an order for an eight ounce bantha steak and a side of stir fried protatoes. Additionally, he ordered a warm blumfruit muffin and a pint of ne'tra gal. Ne'tra gal was known as Mandalorian black ale outside of Mandalorian territory; it was sticky black ale and it was quite popular on the planet Mandalore. Taral also ordered a bottle of Mandalorian fire-water, which was essentially a bottle of pure alcohol.

For a moment it seemed like the mess hall attendant was going to ignore Taral's order. He, like all the others, thought Taral was the scum of the galaxy. But after a moment, the Mandalorian punched in the order and sent it to the cook before pushing the talk button on the mess hall communicator.

"Here's the _Sith's_ order." The mess attendant said into the kitchen microphone with disgust.

Taral watched the exchange with a look of annoyance as the attendant sent the order to the camp's cook. Taral knew what they were conspiring to do and he was not about to let them pull one over on him.

"Why'd you tell him that? He gonna spit in it now?"

The attendant did not answer; he just stared at Taral with unabridged hatred. Taral returned the look with a subtle air about him, one which suggested that the Mandalorian would suffer a horrible fate if he did not comply. As the stare down continued, Taral was able to skim the man's thoughts and discovered the source of his anger. Apparently, the man's sister had been one of the casualties aboard the Gayiyli.

Taral stimulated those thoughts, forcing the man to consider the carnage that resulted from Taral's escape attempt. As the thoughts raced through his mind, he finally relented to the Sith. The attendant barely lowered his head in defeat and looked at the metal counter. He pressed the small intercom button that connected him to the kitchen.

"Don't spit in the Sith's food."

The cook's response was said with such speed that it was almost comical.

"Roger that, holding spit."

Taral kept his gaze on the Mandalorian, though the attendant did not want to match his gaze. He had lost the battle of wills and was forced to acquiesce to his enemy. But Taral was not ready to simply walk away, so he kept staring for another second before adding insult to injury.

"Smart move, I'd hate to see you end up like your sister."

The man's eyes shot up, full of fury as they watched Taral walk away toward an empty table on the other side of the room. Even with the fury he felt, the attendant knew it was best to just let it go. If he sought vengeance for his sister he would surely be killed and though he would be honored by his peers nothing would have been accomplished.

Taral sat at his table for several minutes, waiting patiently for the food he had ordered. He was keeping his eye on the attendant and continued to monitor the cook through the Force. He began to alter the thoughts of the cook, forcing him to work harder and perform the task with utmost care. When Taral was finished with him, the cook probably thought he was preparing a meal for Mandalore himself.

Turning his attentions back to his surroundings, Taral felt the approach of a Mandalorian soldier. The soldier was walking on a straight path right to Taral's empty table. Taral was tired of reading the thoughts of the soldiers around him, so he leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head as he tried to ignore the approaching Mandalorian. But the soldier just kept walking toward the table, Taral kept his eyes closed and only acknowledged the soldier when he was standing beside the table.

"_Usenye!_" Taral said as the Mandalorian reached his table. (**Fuck off!**)

The Mandalorian became angry at Taral. He was ready to punch the arrogant Sith. But he calmed down as he realized that Taral had spoken to him in the Mandalorian language.

"You speak Mando'a?" He asked.

Taral looked up, recognizing the voice of the Mandalorian he had met earlier in the armory.

"Apparently not well enough to get my point across. So I'll say again in Basic. Fuck off!" Taral said.

"Yo're a hard person to like." The Mandalorian said as he took an empty seat across from Taral.

"No shit… what do want?"

"My commander was impressed by the upgrades, he wanted me to ask you to tune up every rifle we have."

"No"

"Why not?"

"Because I said so. Your rifle's a prototype, if you're so desperate to make more have your engineers take it apart."

"Fair enough, what's your name Sith?"

"Hmph, you first."

"My name is Lieutenant Kal Onasi-Ordo."

"Taral."

"A one-word name?"

"Don't like it, go fuck yourself." Taral said as he reached into his pocket.

Taral took out the bottle of painkillers the Mandalorian doctor had left in Taral's room earlier. The doctor was extraordinarily anger at having to provide further medicine to an enemy of his people, but he was not willing to go against Master Tokare's orders. Taral poured a dozen or so pills onto the small metal table he was sitting at. They were white circles with a single line cutting through the middle, that way the user could split the pill for half the dose. Taral took out a small razorblade he had removed from the disposable razor he had purchase earlier and began cutting up the pills. As the medicine was cut into a fine powder, Taral used the razor blade to push the dust into small, two inch lines. When he was finished Taral was left with four lines of powder.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Onasi exclaimed.

"Getting' high, what's it look like?"

Using his right index finger, Taral pressed his right nostril closed and began snorting the lines of powderized painkillers. The effect was less than satisfying to Taral's cravings; his high was more subdued and subtle than the one he received from the liquid Demerol. Instead of a full on hallucination, Taral felt a mild tingle in his fingers and a light buzzing in his head.

As his buzz settled in, Taral felt something climbing onto his left shoulder. It was a small man in loose-fitting clothing and extravagant leather boots. He was wearing an old, brown wool coat and a tri sided leather hat. His skin was tanned and his eyes lids were darkened with eye-shadow. An unusual goatee framed his mouth, with two small braids handing from the tip of his chin. He looked unwashed and wore his long black hair in dreadlocks. The little man looked around, as if rooting out eavesdroppers, before approaching Taral's ear and whispering into it.

"Stab the heart, live forever." The little man said.

"What?" Taral said in a confused tone.

As he spoke, a second man climbed onto his right shoulder. He was a perfect copy of the first sprite, but he carried an opposing opinion. It was as if these men represented Taral's conscience, only they were speaking nonsense. He stood on Taral's right shoulder and gave his opinion on the matter.

"Don't stab the heart, the Dutchman must always have a captain!" The new little man said in a cautious voice.

"Dutchman?"

Taral was now hopelessly confused by the little men on his shoulders. But the drugs he was taking prevented him from realizing there was no one on his shoulders. His hallucinations did not go unnoticed by Onasi, who only saw a man talking to himself. A man who just broke so many laws and cultural taboos that the young Mandalorian felt nauseous, but he chose to ignore those feelings and try to bring Taral back to reality.

"Who are you talking to?"

"The little men on my shoulders…" The look of confusion and disgust coming from Onasi were enough to tell Taral that the little men were not real. The pills were making him hallucinate, so he shook his shoulders and little men evaporated away. "I think this shit's stronger than I thought."

"Recreational narcotics are _extraordinarily_ illegal in the Mandalorian Union."

"What? You shit me out of your womb? You're my fucking mother now?"

"Listen, it's none of my business-"

"Fuckin' A-right it's none of your business!"

"Like I was saying, it's none of my business, but you're not going to make any friends acting like that."

"Everybody here hates my guts, so fuck'em!"

Onasi just shrugged his shoulders and let the Sith continue his indulgences. Onasi had never seen someone who was high before, other than the grave-robbers on Felucia who were high on Nova Dust. It was theorized that Nova Dust was used to control those men, but nothing had been substantiated. Despite his experiences on Felucia, Onasi had never seen someone who just got high as a form of recreation. Onasi let his curiosity get the better of him and chose to study Taral's symptoms and behavior. Luckily, neither man was in any danger so there was nothing to worry about at the moment.

Taral finished snorting the lines just as the mess hall attendant announced that his order was ready. Taral used the Force to levitate the tray across the room, no easy task since he was as high as a low-orbit starship. But since it was a mild high, Taral had enough control not to drop the tray on the floor. He guided it to the table and dropped it in front him when the tray was only three inches off the table.

The food looked and smelled divine, a classic meal prepared for a king. Small branches of steam rose from the steak; juice and cooked blood escaped from the meat as Taral cut into it with his knife and fork. Combined with the buttery protatoes, the meal was simply perfect. Taral finished his first bite with a swig of black ale, the semi-bitter liquid filling his belly and satisfying his thirst. Taral was completely famished and attacked his food with impunity. After five minutes, only the blumfruit muffin and the bottle of Mandalorian fire-water remained.

As he took his first bite of the muffin and let the sweet flavors fill his mouth, Taral sensed the approach of a Jedi who had wandered into the mess hall. Numa'lestin turned toward Taral's table as soon as she saw him. Their conversation had been interrupted earlier; their time apart had only created more curiosity in her mind. There were so many questions to ask and the only person with any answers was Taral. As she approached the table she gave a small bow to both Taral and Onasi, before taking a seat to Taral's left.

"Numa'lestin." Numa said by way of introduction.

"Kal Onasi, a pleasure to meet you Master Jedi."

"Thank you but I'm not a Master yet."

"You still hold a position of honor."

Taral watched the exchange with disgust, the compliments were over the top and though Numa was not aware, they were disingenuous. Onasi did not really respect her; he was feeding her ego and being polite. Though it was an act, Taral did not care enough to shatter the illusion, so he just sat there and opened the bottle of Mandalorian fire-water. As he removed the cork lid, Numa addressed him with a question she had hoped to ask back in the armory.

"I want to know more about you. Where were you trained? How did you become a Sith?"

"So you want to know about my past, huh? It's not relevant."

"I'm curious. How did you become an apprentice to Master Onara?"

"Now there's a relevant tale. It was about ten years ago, when Tlon Fett attacked the colony I lived on."

"Fett? Hmm, I don't begrudge your opinion of us if he's your only experience of the Mandalorian people." Onasi said, finally understanding the source of Taral's bigotry.

"Who's Tlon Fett?" Numa asked

"Fett's an animal, a traitor to the Mandalorian Union. He murdered the former Mandalore and tried to take his place, but he couldn't overcome his only challenger, Mandalore's son." Onasi chimed.

Numa processed the information for a moment before coming to a conclusion about Mandalore's son.

"Javen Panlie?"

Taral decided to interrupt and answer the question himself before Onasi high-jacked the conversation completely.

"Yeah, Fett lost to the shithead and he's been on the run ever since. Anyway, back to the story. Fett sent dozens of ships and several thousand soldiers to attack the colony's capital city, when the defenses fell he ordered the colony razed. So after Fett's men exterminated the population, they left the city to burn. I only survived because my father had hidden me away in our home; I was sick with the Ardroxian Flu and had been bedridden before the attack. It wasn't long after Fett's men left, that a group of pirates came to loot what was left of the colony. After they touched down, the ship's captain led a looting party and they began to scavenge among the corpses."

* * *

The capital city smoldered and released large black clouds into the atmosphere. The raging fires from the Mandalorian attack had slowly dwindled until nothing remained but the charred skeleton of a once vibrant community. A city bustling with activity as over a million colonists went about their daily lives was now an empty shell devoid of life. The landscape was silent except for the constant howl of the fire-fueled winds. Yellow cinders rained down into the streets as if it were snowing, blanketing the streets in several inches of ash.

The silence was broken by the sound of a starship's engines as it entered the atmosphere and landed within the city-limits. As the ship extended its landing gear and settled into the ash and dirt, it opened its hatches and extended a small ramp near the bottom of the ship.

A dozen individuals left the ship, walking across the ramp and into the street, leaving a trail of footprints in the ashes. The landing crew was made up of five humans, three Trandoshans, a Yuuzhan Vong, and three combat droids. As they stood in the street, the crew of pirates began to survey the area. But there was nothing to see, the city was empty and in ruin. They were doubtful that anything of value remained, but none dared to voice such opinions. They were all deathly afraid of their captain, one of the male humans in the group.

The Captain was an older man wearing brown wool clothes and a flamboyant leather hat decorated with colorful feathers. His right eye had been blinded several years prior, the Captain wore a small leather patch over his blinded eye. A wooden peg was in place of his left calf and foot while a large silver hook was in place of his right hand. In addition to this unusual get-up, the Captain carried a small, brightly colored bird on his left shoulder. As he hobbled across the scorched earth, he turned to his men and gave them their orders.

"Alright ya bildrats. Search the colony for any plunder. And keep yer eyes open for any scallywags that yet live. We'll put them in the bilge and make 'em walk the plank."

As the pirates began searching near the smoldering building, a young boy stumbled into the street. He was no more than fifteen and looked as if he belonged in the hospital. He was pale and seemed malnourished, it had been two days since the attack and it was unlikely the boy had found any food. One of the human pirates grabbed the boy and yelled to the captain.

"Arg! I found me a swab, Cap'n."

The captain hobbled over to the boy and looked him over with his one good eye. With a little food and medicine the boy would make a full recovery. Then he could become the ship's servant or he could be sold at a slave auction. Either choice would benefit the crew.

"Well shiver me timbers, I think this boy is the only plunder that'll be had in this wasteland."

"Ack. Wasteland. Ack." The captain's bird said before whistling several times.

* * *

Numa listened to the story with rapt attention. But as she listened it became abundantly clear that Taral was making it all up. Unsure of how to confront him, Numa decided to stop him after hearing him talk about the captain's bird.

"Alright hold on." Numa said as she held up her hand.

"What is it?" Taral demanded, obviously annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"Arg?"

"Yep."

"Shiver me timbers?"

"Mm-hm"

"I don't know, are you sure you're not embellishing the story… just a little?"

"Oh I'm sorry, is this _your_ story? Did this happen to you?" Taral stood up and addressed the small crowd that had gathered to hear to his tale. "Well listen up everybody she's about to tell her amazing story… the one that happened to me and not her." Taral said as he leaned towards Numa, glaring with as much anger as he could muster.

Numa felt anxious as Taral's glare applied an enormous amount of pressure on her psyche. No longer willing to confront the Sith's exaggerations, Numa decided that the best course of action was to acquiesce to Taral's obvious threat. Besides, the embellishments made the story much more entertaining.

"I'm sorry… you got it, you go ahead."

"Are you sure I got it? Are you sure that since it happened to me and not you that I should be the one to tell it. Well okay I thought I did."

Taral took a heavy swig of the nearby bottle of Mandalorian fire-water. It was the moonshine of Mandalorian spirits; at 180 proof it was enough to knockout anyone without the constitution to handle it. But Taral took it like a champ; he barely grimaced as the caustic liquid burned its way down his throat. With a gentle warmth growing in his belly, Taral continued to spin his tale of his time as a pirate.

* * *

The boy was brought onto the ship and placed in a makeshift prison cell in the cargo bay. It was little more than a closet with a locking mechanism. There was no furniture and the only light in the room remained inactive. The boy stayed in the cell for well over an hour before he felt a slight vertigo as the ship lifted off world.

As the ship drifted amongst the stars, the boy's cell remained closed. He could not tell how long he had been locked away. An hour? Several? Without a clock or the light of a sun there was no telling how long he had been a prisoner or even what time of day it was. Exhaustion finally overtook his adrenaline and the boy began to doze off.

Just as he slipping into unconsciousness, the door to his cell opened and the Yuuzhan Vong woman entered the room. She was slightly shorter than her captive; no more than five foot three. She was thin with pasty-white skin and jet black hair which she kept in a braided ponytail. Her skin was covered in purple and black tattoos, intricate Vong symbols covered her thin frame. Her ears and nose had piercings in them, as well as a single looped ring on her lower lip. Despite her small frame her presence towered over the boy, she carried herself with an aura of authority and power.

"Get up ya little shit!"

The boy stumbled to his feet, meek and malnourished as he was. The last remnants of the Ardroxian Flu had left his body shortly before the pirates captured him, but he was still suffering from the aftereffects of the disease. His ill state was only worsened by the lack of provisions and sleep. The latter of which had eluded him since the attack on his home.

As the boy exited his cell, the Vong woman shoved him forward towards the bow of the ship. The Vong was the first mate aboard the ship; this afforded her the luxury of having her own quarters. The room was not particularly large but it did possess a style that was sorely missing from the rest of the ship. Vong style furniture peppered the room and the walls held the frames of various Vong works of art. The entire room was centered around a large bed with blood red sheets and a dark-wood frame.

"Alright kid, strip!"

The boy just stared at her with a surprised look. He did not move, nor did he make any attempt to speak his objection. After the attack on his home and witnessing the death of his father, the boy had been rendered mute. He was also young, no more than fifteen and too young to have felt the warmth of a woman.

"I told you to strip!" The Vong said as she slapped the boy across the face.

The boy was weak and his mind was fragile, easily manipulated by the brute force tactics of the pirate woman. He removed the filthy, tattered remains of his clothes and left them on the floor. Seemingly disconnected from reality the boy just stood there without even covering his body in embarrassment. The woman appraised his body for a moment before addressing him with a frown.

"No scars, we'll have to work on that. When I'm done with you, you won't be such an ugly little smooth-skin! Now lie down on the bed."

The boy did as he was told. Lying on his back he waited as the Vong woman approached and roughly grabbed his forearm. Her sharp nails cut into his skin as she attached the bindings which would hold him in place. With his arms and legs spread out wide and tied to each bed post, the boy was completely helpless. With her victim fully restrained, the Vong began to strip off the meager garments which barely covered her body. The prospect of torturing the captive was very exciting for the Yuuzhan Vong pirate since her people's culture viewed pain as pleasure. Since she had a dominating personality, the Vong pirate always enjoyed being the one who inflicted pain.

"Don't look so sad kid, you might just enjoy this." She said as she pulled a small knife from the drawer and climbed into bed.

* * *

Numa continued to listen to the story with rapt attention. Taral was telling everyone how he had lost his virginity to a sadomasochistic Vong woman. The way he told the tale, he must have felt so helpless and confused. Inexperience gave way to the pleasure and pain inflicted upon him, no doubt the experience scarred his fragile mind at the time.

The helplessness Taral had experienced was something Numa was all too familiar with. Before she joined the Jedi Order, Numa had been a slave to cruel master on Tatooine. She too had been helpless and alone, until the Jedi came and bartered for her freedom. But Taral was a Sith and she was doubtful the Sith Order would bother to save anyone. Most likely Taral had no one but himself to rely on.

Taral kept spinning his tale, after the Vong was finished using his body she released him from his bindings and locked him back in his cell.

* * *

"Same time tomorrow?" The Vong woman said with an evil laugh as she slammed the door shut.

Her captive was curled into a fetal position on the cold floor of his cell nursing his numerous wounds. His chest was covered with shallow cuts; each cut was deep enough to draw blood which further stained his filthy clothes. But the wounds were superficial and the boy would not suffer any permanent damage.

As the pain became a dull ache, exhaustion once again claimed the boy. He drifted off to sleep as his body slowly knitted his wounds closed. He slept for only a few hours before the Vong returned with a collar strap in her hand. After approaching the boy, the Vong attached the collar around the boy's neck and turned a small knob until a green light turned on.

"Know what this is?" The Vong asked with a grin.

The boy just shook his head. He knew it was a collar of some kind, but presence of the electronics systems left him unaware of the collar's true purpose.

"It's a slave containment collar. If you leave the ship or try to take it off, the collar will detonate and splatter you across the fuckin' deck." The pirate said as she began to laugh.

The Vong's laugh was suddenly cut off as she closed the cell door once again. The boy sat in the complete darkness of his cell; his fingers gingerly touched the collar which encased his neck. Ignoring the discomfort in his neck, the boy laid down once more ready to sleep.

The boy's mind was wracked by nightmares. He thrashed in his sleep as he re-witnessed his father's murder and the cruel ministrations of the Vong pirate. Sleep had become torturous for the boy; there was seemingly no relief in sight. The nightmares lasted several more hours before they were drowned out by the blinding light of the open cell door. Standing in the doorway was a human pirate, a middle aged man with a blaster pistol in his hand.

"Get up shithead!"

The boy stumbled to his feet, groaning as several cuts were reopened as he stood up. The cuts did not bleed, but they stung as if they had been covered with salt. The pirate motioned for the boy to follow; they walked for several minutes until they arrived at the ship's small armory. The pirate made his way to an old Baragwin who was sitting at a workbench.

"Hey Fuck-face! We got someone to help you." The pirate said before shoving the boy toward the workbench.

Without another word the pirate left the room. The Baragwin watched the pirate leave before he turned his attention to his new assistant. The boy stood up and brushed of his pants, it was more a force of habit since his clothes were completely filthy.

"That was Delan, he's a fuckin' asshole. But I'm sure you already figured that out." The Baragwin said with a smile before placing a lit cigarette in his mouth.

The boy did not answer; he just looked up at the Baragwin before quickly dropping his gaze to the floor. The boy was frightened; everything that had happened in the past two days had shattered his mind and rendered him mute.

"You don't talk much, do you?" The Baragwin said as he exhaled the smoke from his cigarette.

The boy did not respond verbally, instead shook his head and remained passive. The Baragwin seemed almost kind, but the boy knew better than to take the situation at face-value. After all, the Baragwin was part of the pirate crew and it was unlikely he was any different from the rest of the pirates.

"I don't blame ya, misspeaking around these assholes can be painful. Here, this'll calm your nerves."

The Baragwin handed the boy his cigarette and waited for the kid to smoke it. The boy understood the concept, but he was unsure of the proper technique. Placing the cigarette in his mouth, the boy took a small drag on it before bursting into a coughing fit. The Baragwin chuckled at the boy's clumsy technique.

"You'll get used to it kid. Name's Idelo." The Baragwin said as he extended his hand.

The boy took Idelo's hand and shook the leathery appendage. The boy was still on guard, but a flicker of hope had begun to grow within him. Perhaps Idelo would be different from the others.

"Have a seat, you might learn something."

The boy sat on a stool next to Idelo and watched the old Baragwin as he modified a blaster pistol. The blaster was an older model of Mandalorian design. It was covered in small dings and dents with several areas of mild rust. The blaster had seen better days, but in the hands of a master weaponsmith the old blaster could transformed into a formidable weapon.

* * *

Taral continued telling his tale, explaining the tutelage he received from Idelo Onara. Absorbing all the knowledge he could, Taral would eventually surpass the Baragwin. But as the alcohol content in his bloodstream began to climb, Taral's story became incoherent and he started slurring his words.

"We 'ad a major run in… durin' the con-flik of ma-canical advantage six."

With an empty bottle of Mandalorian fire-water in his hand, Taral began mumbling to himself seemingly oblivious to those around him. Numa decided to intervene and stop the drunken young man from making a fool of himself.

"You're drunk!" Numa said with disgust.

"Whad you juss de-zide that I'm drungk, you can't de-zide. That de-zizion is between me and Gawd. And I didunt make dat de-zizion."

"Would you listen to yourself?"

Numa put Taral's arm over her shoulder and helped him to his feet. The two stumbled out of the mess hall and into the light rain coming down outside. They made their way slowly through the camp to the small hut which had been granted to Taral. As the door slid open, Numa guided Taral to his small cot and sat him down. She helped him remove his muddy boots, but as she finished pulling them off she felt Taral's warm hands caressing her lekku, the fleshy tails extending from the back of her head.

His touch startled her, lekku were sensitive erogenous zones and the stimulation brought old and unwelcome urges back to her mind. Numa reached up to remove his hands only to find herself being pulled into his arms. Taral was trying to embrace her, wrapping himself around her body as he pulled her in for a kiss. Numa twisted her body and pulled herself away from Taral's grasp. Without Numa to support him Taral quickly collapsed onto the cot, his heavy eyelids closed themselves as he drifted off to an alcohol-induced dream. As he drifted to sleep, Taral muttered a single word.

"Prude…"

Numa closed the door to Taral's hut and made her way to a small building on the other side of camp. It had been designated for the Jedi who accompanied Master Tokare to Felucia; she was the only one left on Dxun after one of them was killed on the Gayiyli and the other left with Master Tokare. Opening the door she found three small cots, none were in use at the time. After checking to make sure the door was locked, Numa disrobed and climbed into the middle cot and tried desperately to fall asleep.

But as she tossed and turned she found that she could not find the will to sleep. When Taral grabbed her lekku earlier it had reawakened feelings she had suppressed since joining the Jedi nearly twenty years ago. But now those feelings were back with a vengeance, her skin burned and her nerves begged for stimulation. After an hour of thrashing on her cot, Numa finally relented.

Reaching up to her chest, Numa gingerly squeezed her large breasts and sent a jolt of pleasure through her body. The nerves beneath the soft flesh of her breasts responded every time she caressed them. The pleasure continued to build until it became concentrated in Numa's chocolate colored areolas. She began to twist her hardening nipples and let out a squeal of delight, but it was not enough to quell the fires burning within her loins.

Releasing her breasts, Numa slowly moved her arms down her belly and between her legs. As her fingers made contact with the sensitive flesh her body began to spasm and her pleasure reached its apex and sent her over the edge. Numa began to scream as her orgasm ravaged her body, but as her climax began to diminish it was quickly replaced by another, and another. It took nearly five hours for Numa's libido to be satisfied, over a decade of sexual neglect had starved her body until now.

Breathing hard and covered in a thin layer of sweat, the exhausted twi'lek surrendered herself to the comforting arms of sleep. A contented smile crossed her face as her breathing became steady and she fell into a dreamscape.

* * *

Taral awoke with a splitting headache, and found himself completely hung-over from the previous day's excesses. Throwing his legs over the side his cot, Taral brought his hands to his head and began massaging his temples, desperately trying to alleviate the pain he was experiencing. Drawing strength from the Force, Taral began to accelerate the healing process and aided his body as it purged the poisons from his system. As the last vestiges of the hangover left his mind, Taral reached for his clothes and began to dress himself. When he was fully dressed and ready to face the day, Taral stepped out of his hut and into the humid air of the Dxun jungle.

Looking past the camp's buildings and out toward the forest's edge, Taral saw a small gathering of soldiers in a small clearing near the southern-most part of the camp. Large branches had been gathered and formed into a crude circle. Two Mandalorians grappled with each other in the center as the gathered crowd cheered for the spectacle. The two combatants were dressed only in pants, their shirts and boots casually piled outside the circle. They seemed to be fairly evenly matched, just two young soldiers trying to overpower one another.

The smaller fighter seemed to be at a disadvantage, standing nearly six inches shorter than his rival. The boy had been pushed to the edge of the ring, barely keeping his body from falling over the artificial edge. Just as it seemed he had lost, the boy grabbed his opponent by the shoulder and waistband before heaving him out of the ring. Both fighters were bruised and bleeding from superficial wounds, but the winner was obvious. The Mandalorian in charge of the Battle Circle stepped forward and called an end to the fight, declaring the shorter Mandalorian, the honorable winner.

As Taral moved closer to the circle, the gathered crowd parted and allowed him to pass. Their behavior was not entirely unexpected, every Mandalorian on Dxun felt nothing but hatred for their Sith captive. They were desperate to vent their rage in an attempt to avenge their fallen brothers and sisters. But first they needed to convince the Sith to take part in the Battle Circle, a task that would prove to be extraordinarily easy for them to accomplish.

"You there… Sith. Do you wish to compete in the Battle Circle?" Said the Mandalorian who acted as captain of the Battle Circle.

"Fuck yeah!" Taral replied in a cheerful and confident voice.

"Good. You are new to the Battle Circle; you lack any accumulated honor of your own. Therefore your first fight will be against Dak, the youngest of the competitors. He too lacks any accumulated honor and as such the Battle Circle views you two as equals."

"Skip the bullshit, let's get to the killing!"

"There is no killing in the Battle Circle! Aside from that, neither combatant may leave the Circle's boundaries and the only weapons permitted are those allowed by the combatant with the most accumulated honor."

"Fair enough, let's do it."

"Dak, what are your terms?"

"No weapons or Force powers, simple hand to hand combat." Dak replied.

"Very well. Any use of the prohibited weapons will result in an automatic disqualification and banishment from the Battle Circle."

Taral removed his boots and socks and placed them outside the tree branches which formed the crude boundaries of the Battle Circle. He then proceeded to remove his dark gray shirt, revealing a latticework of the numerous scars he had accumulated over the years. Many of them were raised burn marks he had received from a lightsaber. Though the gathered soldiers made no comment on the scars, many of them gained an unconscious and begrudging respect for Taral. Mandalorians were part of a warrior culture, they respected anyone of prowess and it was clear that Taral had fought many times in the past and survived against all odds.

Dak, Taral's opponent, did the same and removed his shirt and boots. His tanned body gave the appearance of an athlete, lean and toned. He was not the strongest Mandalorian, which was why he was at the bottom rung, but he was fast and cunning. If he continued to hone his skills and augment his abilities, he would become a formidable fighter one day. Placing his possessions outside the Circle as Taral had done, Dak then turned to his opponent and entered his combat stance. His form was a little sloppy, leaving him vulnerable on his left side; Taral saw this as the simplest way to end the duel and move on to the stronger combatants. But he remained passive, waiting patiently for the captain to officially start the fight.

"Combatants ready? Fight!" The Battle Circle captain said as he sounded the small buzzer that was attached to his utility belt.

Dak launched himself at Taral, hoping to catch the Sith off guard. As Dak closed the gap between them, Taral sidestepped him and punched the young soldier in the side of the face, splitting his lip and throwing him off balance. It presented Taral with an opportunity to end the fight and he took it. Grabbing the Mandalorian's arm, Taral then proceeded to punch his opponent in the abdomen. Dak had the wind knocked out of him just before Taral slammed his fist into the young soldier's face, breaking his nose and knocking the Mandalorian to the ground. Sensing an impending defeat, the captain decided to end the fight with a sound from the buzzer.

"Enough! The Sith is the honorable winner. You may now fight the next competitor if you chose to." The captain said as another soldier helped Dak to his feet.

"I'm always ready for a fight. Bring it on."

"Very well… Mirta, do you accept the Sith's challenge?"

"I do." Came a feminine voice from the edge of the Battle Circle.

"A chick? But I'll tear her apart!"

"Mirta can handle herself as well as any Mandalorian. Now, after your fight with Dak you have a small amount of accumulated honor, more than Mirta has. Therefore, you may decide the terms of the fight."

"Terms? You mean I can use the Force and my lightsaber and all that?"

"Yes, but it is dishonorable to go against a low-level opponent with such power. Better to keep the playing field even as best you can."

"Honor is a fool's prize, but whatever. What would you suggest the terms be?"

The captain's eyes narrowed at Taral's disregard for personal honor, but he nevertheless pondered the question for a moment, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of the combatants before making his decision.

"Swords. Neither of you are particularly skilled with such a weapon. It is the most honorable choice."

"Sounds good."

Mirta began to strip down as all other competitors had before her. First her boots, then her armor and weapons. Everything was laid in a pile at the edge of the Battle Circle. Left with just her pants and short-sleeved shirt, Mirta began to remove her shirt, much to the delight of her adversary.

_Oh yeah baby, it's titty-time. Let's see those fun bags._

As she removed the shirt, Mirta was left with a gray sports bra covering her chest. Much to Taral's disappointment, she decided to leave the bra on.

… _lazy bitch._

The captain gave each combatant a Mandalorian vibrosword and waited until they were ready before sounding the buzzer alarm and starting the fight. The blade was heavy and awkward in Taral's hand; he was so used to weightlessness of a lightsaber blade that this vibrosword actually put him at a disadvantage.

Mirta on the other hand was more accustomed to the weight of a sword. Though she did not have any formal training with such a weapon, she had used them in the past and knew the weight and balance quite well. It gave her a small advantage over Taral, a very small advantage. Upon hearing the sound of the buzzer, Mirta launched herself at Taral just as Dak had done in the previous duel. Unlike Dak however, the swords placed Taral on the defensive and he would not be able to end the fight so easily.

Taral was fast enough to block Mirta's first swing, but not the second. Throwing Taral off balance with her initial attack, Mirta took another swing and struck Taral in the forearm leaving a bloody gash near his elbow. Releasing an angry yell, Taral blocked the third attack and pushed Mirta back, knocking her off balance with a quick head butt. As Mirta fell backwards toward the edge of the Circle, Taral swung his vibrosword upwards, barely grazing the skin on her chest. But the attack was not without reward, the blade caught Mirta's bra and sliced through the fabric, releasing her small breasts and leaving a superficial cut between them.

Shrugging off what was left of her bra; Mirta readied herself for the next attack, only to find her opponent completely distracted by her topless figure. Hoping to press the advantage, Mirta lunged at Taral and attempted to pierce him with her blade. But as she neared him, Taral just smiled and sidestepped her attack, bringing up his blade as he did so. Taral had played her for a fool, though he _had_ been ogling her exposed chest, he was not actually distracted. He had given Mirta a false sense of superiority and allowed her to run right into his blade.

The vibrosword had pierced her abdomen and exited her lower back. Blood poured from her wounds as the shock of the situation finally registered in her mind. Taral pushed Mirta off of the blade and let her fall to the ground. The duel was over and yet another combatant was in need of medical treatment. As the captain called an end to the fight, two onlookers helped Mirta to her feet and guided her to the camp's medbay.

"Alright Sith, you have defeated the weakest of the Battle Circle, now you may face the strongest of our warriors."

"That's it? Two amateurs and we're right to the champions?"

"There are only two official competitors left, we only established the Battle Circle this morning. Do you wish to face Kex? He is the next fighter."

"You know I do, now stop asking me that!"

"Very well. Kex, do you accept the Sith's challenge?"

"I do." Kex said.

"What are your terms, former Champion?"

"Hand to hand, no Force powers or weapons."

"Sith, do you understand the terms?"

Taral did not voice a reply; he merely nodded his head and readied himself for combat. Taral watched as Kex removed his boots and shirt, revealing the hardened muscles which covered his body. Kex was older than Taral, maybe in his thirties. He carried himself like a battle hardened warrior, certainly more experienced than Dak. As Kex readied himself he entered the idle stance of an advanced Mandalorian fighting style.

As Taral took stock of his opponent he noticed that Kex held his stance perfectly, without any sign of weakness or vulnerability. Taral became excited at the possibilities which were laid out before him. Kex could provide Taral with a challenge worthy of his skills. But Taral had to be cautious, without the Force he would be at a severe disadvantage. He had received extensive training in the martial arts over the years, including several Mandalorian styles. Whether it would be enough to overcome Kex's abilities was unknown and only time would tell.

As the captain sounded the alarm and started the fight, Taral readied himself for Kex's onslaught. But Kex did not move, he remained in his readied stance and waited for Taral to make the first move. The Cuy'val Dar, known as the ghost technique to non-Mandalorians, was a defensive technique designed to force an opponent to wear themselves out and leave themselves vulnerable to counter attacks. Cuy'val Dar practitioners rarely initiated combat; it would be up to Taral to throw the first punch.

Taral began to circle his opponent, his muscles were tense and ready to strike. His dirty sweat coated skin felt the sudden shock of dozens of cold pinpricks. A small storm was approaching and the first droplets of rain began to wash away the grime that covered Taral's body. The rain trickled down his body, forming small rivers along his chest and back.

Taral lunged forward, attempting to kick Kex's legs out from under him. Before Taral was able to connect, Kex grabbed Taral's leg and used the Sith's momentum to throw him to the ground. Kex leapt into the air and brought his knee down on Taral's chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. The force of the blow would have been enough to break Taral's ribs, but his connection to the Force gave his ribs the strength to resist the bone shattering attack.

Kex took a step back and readied himself for the next confrontation. Normally he would have let his guard down and basked in victory, but Taral was different from the men Kex had fought in the past. Sith were always dangerous no matter how much damage they had sustained. The only way to ensure that a Sith was no longer a threat was to kill them. There were still those who believed even death was not enough to stop a Sith. That they would haunt the one who killed them, tormenting the poor man for the rest of his life before finally claiming his soul after death. Groundless superstition used to frighten children, it was a tale Kex was familiar with but he had discarded the thought long ago. Superstition was a sign of a weak mind.

Kex wanted nothing more than to avenge his fallen comrades and kill his Sith opponent. Killing within the Battle Circle was forbidden, but accidents were not unheard of. Kex was sure that if Taral died in the fight he would be exonerated of any wrong-doing. The trick was to wear the Sith down before striking him with a devastating attack, something that would break his neck or collapse his trachea.

Taral climbed to his feet with a deep groan, the only true sign that he was in any pain. His ribs were bruised but intact and now he was ready to launch another attack. He had not underestimated Kex, he was well aware of the prowess required of a former Champion of the Battle Circle. He had tested the waters, sizing up his opponents abilities and giving Kex a false sense of confidence. He was doubtless convinced that Taral's fighting abilities were unable to compete with his own.

Taral began to circle Kex once more, his bare feet squishing into the wet grass and forcing mud between his toes. Kex began to circle Taral as well, walking in the opposite direction. He was still in the Cuy'val Dar stance with his every muscle tense from the excitement, ready to lash out at any moment. He would have to end the fight quickly; with every drop of rain the Circle became more slippery and unstable. The more difficulty he had staying on his feet, the less effective the Cuy'val Dar would be.

It was that mindset that led Kex to initiate the second confrontation. He threw his fist at Taral with a blinding speed and connected with the Sith's left cheek. The blow twisted Taral's face to the right as Kex's punch followed through and slid in front of the Sith's face. Kex's momentum meant he could only move forward and as Kex's fist left Taral's face the Sith grabbed Kex's arm and flipped the Mandalorian onto his back. With his opponent on the ground Taral took the Mandalorian's arm, which had yet to leave his hand and he kicked Kex right in the elbow. Kex's arm bent at the joint with a sickening pop, bringing a grunt of pain not often heard from a Mandalorian soldier. Taral stood up with a look triumph on his face; he had defeated the old Champion and was ready to face the new one.

The Captain of the Circle was just about to sound the alarm and declare Taral the victor when Kex forced himself to his feet. His right arm lay limp at his side, his injury became less noticeable but if one looked closely they could easily see that Kex's elbow was now inverted.

"You're a tough son-of-a-bitch, I'll give ya that much." Taral said.

Taral began to circle his opponent, preparing to strike the injured warrior and end the duel once and for all. Kex simply readied himself for Taral's attack, with his arm disabled Kex would now be forced to fight on the defensive. Without his two arms to balance himself Kex ran the risk of falling into the mud. Had he been a lesser warrior he would have gladly accepted defeat, he was experiencing a level of pain he had never before fathomed. Only his adrenaline kept him going, that and the knowledge that the same thing could occur during a true battle. If he could master the pain and fight on during this monitored duel, then he could survive out in the field if he was ever injured.

Taral lunged at Kex and tried to punch the Mandalorian in the face, but Kex was able to grab Tara's fist in his own and prevent it from hitting his face. But with only one hand Kex was unable to defend himself against Taral's other fist which collided with Kex's face. Taral kept the pressure on Kex's hand to keep the Mandalorian from letting go; this allowed Taral to punch Kex several times in the face.

With blood pouring from his nose and lip, Kex pulled down on Taral's arm and struck the Sith in the stomach with his knee. With the wind knocked out of his opponent Kex was able to let go of Taral's fist and grab the back of the Sith's head. Kex then lifted his knee as he forced his opponent's head down and broke the Sith's nose. Stunned from the attack, Taral was unable to maintain his balance and slipped in the mud onto his back.

Kex leapt into the air and attempted to bring his knee down on Taral's chest again. But the Sith had already recovered from his fall and rolled out of the way before Kex was able to hit him. With Kex in a kneeling position, Taral rushed at him and tackled him to the ground. Taral sat on Kex's chest and held him by the throat as he began punching his opponent in the face. The attack was without form or grace, it was brutal instinct like that of an animal attack. Taral's punches broke Kex's nose and likely knocked a tooth loose. Blood poured from the Mandalorian's nose and teeth, coloring the mud around his head an unnatural maroon. After the fifth hit Kex was rendered unconscious, but Taral continued to pummel the man's broken face.

The sound of the Battle Circle whistle awoke Taral from his battle-sleep and he was again able to compose himself. Taral's body was covered in mud; his pants were soaking wet and the blood from his nose continued to flow like a river. The blood went down his chin to the top of his chest, creating what looked to be a red beard.

Kex looked much the same, but his prone position within the mud made it appear as if he had been killed. Only the soft gurgling of his shallow breaths gave any sign of life. The Mandalorian doctors had been on hand since the beginning of the duel. They noticed the progressively more serious injuries coming out of the Battle Circle and decided to remain nearby. They, and a group of spectators, gingerly lifted Kex's unconscious body onto a field gurney and took the fallen champion to the medbay.

"Excessive, but you are victorious, Sith. You may now face our current champion, Maelon." The Circle captain said as he turned to a nearby soldier who was no more than a year or two older than Taral. "Maelon, what are your terms?"

Maelon looked at his blood and mud-covered opponent, there was fire burning within the Sith's eyes. Something Maelon had long since grown to respect, defiance. It was defiance against the odds, an indomitable will which sought to vanquish any foe and overcome any obstacle. It was the same look he had seen in his father's eyes before he had died.

"No restrictions, I will face the Sith with all his power."

The words brought a look of surprise to Taral's dirt covered features.

"What? Are you dusted? I'll tear you apart!"

The Mandalorian kept his face set with a look of quiet determination. Facing Taral's full power would give the soldier a sense of how he would fare in combat against the Sith. It was a risky proposition, but the Battle Circle champion felt it was a necessary thing; after all, a champion must face the best his opponents can throw at him. Taral just stared at the man with the sort of expression someone would give a crazy man, before shrugging his shoulders and accepting the champion's terms.

"Fine, fine, whatever you want."

The captain of the Battle Circle sounded the alarm to start the duel and the Mandalorian launched himself at Taral. He took only three steps before Taral lifted him into the air and used the Force Crush technique to compress the man's body and shatter his bones. Taral then released his grip and the broken Mandalorian crumbled to the ground, his mind in shock. Shattered bones had torn through the soldier's skin, allowing small rivers of blood to pour out of his arms and legs. The body twitched as several soldiers rushed to the man's aid, trying their best to help their fallen comrade and get him to the camp's medical facility. Taral turned away from the carnage and approached the captain of the Battle Circle.

"Well? Aren't ya gonna declare me 'champion'?"

The captain ignored the question, his old eyes staring at the pile of broken bones that had once been the Battle Circle champion. Maelon had been a fool to allow Taral to use the Force; it made a mockery of everything the Battle Circle stood for. It also meant he would not be battle-ready when the order came for the camp's soldiers to rejoin with Mandalore's main force. It was with this mindset that the captain finally acknowledged Taral's question and rebuked his demands.

"You're a monster; you don't deserve any recognition from us!"

"You're just jealous! Fuck all y'all who are jealous of me, you're all fucking jealous of me! Fuck you!" Taral yelled at the captain as the other soldiers carried the former champion to the camp's medical facilities.

Taral was prepared to continue his rant but stopped and turned around when he heard the sound of a lightsaber being ignited. Standing outside the circle was the twi'lek Jedi that Taral had spoken with the other day. Her cloak lay crumpled on the ground, her orange lightsaber held in her left hand with the blade pointed to the ground. The gathered Mandalorians stepped aside to allow Numa to enter the Battle Circle.

"I think you need to be taken down a notch, Taral."

Taral did not reply he simply smiled through his blood covered lips. He reached out his hand and used the Force grab his lightsaber from its resting place on top of his shirt on the ground. With the pommel resting comfortably in his palm, Taral activated his blade and bathed his blood soaked body in red light which further accentuated his brutal visage.

Taral pulled the blade behind his back and taunted Numa with a come-hither finger gesture. Seeing that Taral wanted her to start the duel, Numa obliged and launched herself at the young Sith. She held her lightsaber high and brought the blade down onto Taral's head, but such a simple attack was easily blocked by Taral's lightsaber. With a firm shove Taral was able to push Numa back a few steps. But instead of pressing his attack, Taral just returned to a defensive position and waited for Numa to strike him.

It was obvious that Taral was testing the Jedi, seeing how she would react. Taral had fought and killed several Jedi in the past and they always seemed to be lackluster warriors. They would use predictable attacks which would no doubt overcome the pitiful mercenaries the Jedi were accustomed to fighting. But a fully trained Sith would easily overpower and kill any Jedi they came across.

As Numa renewed her attacks it became clear to Taral that she was no different. Numa had so much potential yet it was wasted by lackluster masters who never bothered to help Numa hone her abilities. Taral studied the Jedi's technique, she was good but her moves were awkward. She had the ability, but the Niman technique was not her strong suit. Her diminutive size did not lend her the strength needed to overpower an opponent. It would be better for her to focus on defense; the Soresu technique would give her the greatest advantage.

Having achieved an overall understanding of Numa's skills, Taral launched himself at her. He grabbed Numa's hand and lifted it into the air. This left the bottom of Numa's lightsaber exposed and allowed Taral to cut the pommel in half. With her lightsaber destroyed, Numa could do nothing but bow her head in defeat. As Taral deactivated his lightsaber, the captain of the Battle Circle sounded the alarm and ended the duel.

"You are weak Jedi." Taral said with disappointment.

His tone seemed to add insult to injury. The painful truth made Numa's head dip further in shame. She was reminded of her time as a Padawan, when her master would scold her for the most superficial mistake.

"Your power is wasted with the Jedi; you could be so much more. But you have allowed your masters to shackle you to weakness. It is the same weakness that permeates the Jedi Order." Taral said as he turned and left the Battle Circle.

"The Order is strong. You cannot base your views on a single duel." Numa retorted.

Taral stopped walking but did not turn back. Instead he looked up at the clouded skies of Dxun. The rain had stopped, but the storm clouds remained. Despite this, the blue of Dxun's atmosphere still managed to pierce the clouds. It was going to rain again as it always does on this jungle world, but for the moment the skies were calm. Taral finally lowered his head and let out a sigh before he addressed Numa's words.

"The Jedi rest on a knife's edge, the Order is barely held together. A galactic war will destroy the Jedi and you along with them. You need to find your own strength before the Jedi are consumed." Taral then resumed his trek toward the camp's armory.

Numa watched as Taral left, her emotions were fried and she desperately needed a shower and a nap. Taral had re-awoken the long dormant doubts she harbored about the Jedi Order. She would need to meditate on the day's events. After gathering her broken lightsaber and discarded cloak, Numa made her way to the camps communal showers. Hopefully the hot water would help calm her emotions.

* * *

Numa'lestin sat on the floor of her small room with her legs crossed; her mind was disconnected from reality as she meditated. It had been several hours since her defeat, but she was still having trouble centering herself, the duel left her flustered and unable to concentrate. Back at the Jedi Academy on Coruscant, Numa was considered one of the best lightsaber duelists among the non-Masters. But Taral had shattered any illusions of greatness when he defeated Numa in the Battle Circle today. He had been toying with her; the skill he used to defeat her had been but a fraction of his true power. Taral could have killed her at any point and Numa would have had absolutely no way to defend herself.

He was stronger than her, but where did his power come from? Was it the dark side? Could she gain that kind of power if she embraced the darkness? Numa shook the idea from her mind; those kinds of thoughts could only lead to corruption. She had never had any difficulty controlling those temptations in the past, but seeing a fully trained Sith in action gave her pause. There was so much power in that man and so little power amongst the Jedi.

She was stirred from her thoughts by a gently knock on the door of her shack. Numa stood up quickly and nearly lost her balance as the rush of blood caused her to become dizzy and lightheaded. Shaking off the mild vertigo, Numa walked the short distance to the door and opened it to the humid air of the Dxun night. But what she saw was an empty space; no one was there to greet her. Instead there was a small package at her feet, wrapped in black cloth. She looked around once more, this time reaching out with the Force to find the individual who left it, but she felt nothing out of the ordinary. The gift giver was gone.

Numa bent her legs and picked up the small package and brought it into her hut. She laid the package on her small cot as she sat lotus-style on the floor next to it. Pulling away the dark fabric, Numa found a small plastic box underneath. There was a single latch keeping the contents from falling out, Numa ran her fingers across the latch and released the locking mechanism. As she opened the box and viewed its contents, she let out a small gasp.

Inside the small box was a beautifully crafted lightsaber and a small datapad. The lightsaber was a superb example of lightsaber craftsmanship. The pommel was just over eight inches in length, with black rubber handgrips running vertically up and down the bottom half. The top half consisted of metal and polymers, with a mushroomed top which contained the blade emitter. The pommel felt perfectly balanced in Numa's hand, which meant the lightsaber would always be balanced since the lightsaber blade was completely weightless.

Numa pressed a small activation switch and was rewarded with the snap-hiss of her new lightsaber. But as the blade was activated, it bathed the room in red light. She frowned at this revelation, but it also confirmed who left the package at her door. She would need to replace the focusing crystal at a later time, but for now she would make do with the red blade. Numa deactivated the lightsaber and placed it on the floor next to her as she reached for the datapad.

The datapad contained a short message: _**Your old blade was shit, hope you like the new one. I've included manuscripts which will teach you the basics of Form 3. That technique will fit your strengths and augment your weaknesses. -Taral**_

True to the message, Taral had included several files detailing Form 3, the Soresu technique. The first file detailed the basics and each file became progressively more advanced. The datapad would not allow Numa to master the technique, but she would be able to gain a better understanding of the form. If she ever wanted to be a master of Soresu, she would need to find a holocron containing such information.

* * *

Taral watched from a distance as Numa closed the door to her room, his task complete he decided to retire to his own hut and "celebrate" with another bottle of fire-water. It was not that Taral was an alcoholic so much as alcohol was one of the few things that kept away the nightmares of his past when he slept. As he entered his room and kicked off his boots, Taral laid down on his cot and reached under it for the bottle of booze. After downing half the bottle, Taral blacked out and entered an alcohol induced dreamscape where nothing made sense and nothing would be remembered.

Taral slept for a good ten hours before waking to the familiar pain of a hangover. Taral remained still and used the Force to end the pain. Once the hangover had been purged, Taral got dressed and made his way to the mess hall for some much needed afternoon breakfast.

After hitting the mess hall and eating a hearty brunch, Taral made his way to the only source of entertainment in the entire camp, the Battle Circle. The Circle was obscured by the ever-present crowd that always gathered to see the fights, but the crowd seemed smaller. It was then that Taral realized that only eight Mandalorians remained in the camp, the other several dozen had left when Taral was passed out on his cot. Taral made his way through the crowd until he came face-to-face with the captain of the Battle Circle. But before Taral was able to join the fighting, the captain kept him restrained with the Mandalorian equivalent of bureaucratic "red-tape".

"Sith, you are the current champion of the Battle Circle. As champion you may watch others fight and offer advice to those who seek it. You may not fight unless another fighter challenges you and no one here is willing to risk fighting you again."

"I can't fight? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Watch you fuckers play grab-ass all day?"

"What you plan to do is not my concern… _champion_."

"Hmph, dickhead!"

Taral was relegated to the position of spectator, something he was loathe to endure. Taral was a warrior, he wanted to fight, not watch as a bunch of Mandalorians manhandled each other. Taral was about to leave when he sensed the presence of a Jedi nearby. Walking confidently toward the Battle Circle was the Jedi Numa; the hood of her cloak was pulled over her head protecting her from the pelting rain. She walked up to Taral, lightsaber in hand and prepared to challenge him to another duel.

"Come back for another spanking?" Taral said with a smirk.

"I'm here to take your place… Mr. Champion."

Taral used the Force to pull his lightsaber into his hand and readied himself for battle. The two fighters stared each other down, neither fighter willing to make the first move. The imminent duel did not go unnoticed by those taking part in the Battle Circle. The captain of the Battle Circle sensed an opportunity to test his men against the Jedi. In the Battle Circle, a fighter had to climb the ranks before they were allowed to challenge the champion. The captain stepped forward and addressed Numa.

"You must earn the right to face a champion of the Battle Circle."

"Stay outta this, ya dick!" Taral yelled at the captain. Taral had finally found something fun to occupy his time and the captain was raining on his parade… again.

"She wants to be the Battle Circle champion… she must follow the rules."

"Don't worry Taral, I won't take too long. Besides, I could use the warm up." Numa said with an arrogant smirk.

Despite being squarely defeated by Taral, Numa was confident she could overtake the Mandalorians. Numa was not a typical arrogant Jedi; she did not look down on others. But she did consider herself a superior fighter due to her connection to the Force. She felt like she could swat these soldiers aside like pesky flies. She was going to find out just how wrong she was.

Taral hung his lightsaber from his belt and wore a mask of annoyance, but on the inside he was excited to see what the Jedi could do. He knew what her capabilities were in a lightsaber duel, but he was unsure of what to expect from her in the Battle Circle. All he knew was that Numa was in over her head; this Jedi believed herself to be superior to the gathered soldiers, but Taral knew this to be a falsehood. These were not common soldiers, they were Mandalorians; each one trained to fight Jedi, to resist the Force. When Taral had fought in the Circle he knew the strengths and weaknesses of his foes, but Numa held no such advantage. She was going in blind and only time would tell if she could adapt.

* * *

Numa entered the Battle Circle and removed her boots and cloak and placed them both outside the boundary line. She then removed her new lightsaber and placed it on top of her crumpled, black cloak before turning to her opponent and readying herself for battle. She made no effort to remove her white tunic, whether from ignorance or modesty was unclear, but the captain did not give her any grief. Despite the protocol of an official Battle Circle, the formalities were much more relaxed on Dxun. This Battle Circle was part of a temporary camp and had been hastily constructed as means of relieving camp boredom.

Since she was new to the Circle, Numa's first opponent was Dak. Though he still carried a large discolored bruise on his face, Dak was ready to fight and hopefully prove himself against a Jedi. It was unlikely the Jedi possessed much skill in hand to hand and grappling; by attacking her weaknesses, Dak could make the most of the small advantage he possessed.

"Fighters ready? Begin!"

Dak launched himself at Numa in much the same way he had against Taral the previous day. But Numa was not as prepared for the attack as Taral was. Reacting to Dak's movement she blocked his first punch and found herself on the defensive. The greatest flaw in her technique was the fact that she was only reacting to Dak's attack, not predicting them. If she failed to adapt to the situation Numa would find herself trapped in a defensive posture until she was finally defeated.

Dak's confidence rose as he realized Numa could not concentrate on countering his attacks. He kept testing her defenses, slamming his fists and feet into her forearms which acted as two shields. Dak was confident he could win, but he had to act fast. The constant barrage he leveled on Numa was taking its toll on Dak's stamina. His heart was racing and he was quickly running out of breath. He needed a decisive hit to end the fight and reclaim some semblance of honor.

Numa continued to block the Mandalorian's attacks, combining the newly learned Soresu technique with her rudimentary understanding of martial arts. What emerged was an amalgam of unorthodox hand gestures which succeeded in keeping Dak at bay. The effort made her heart beat within her ample chest, but she was not yet tired.

Dak was becoming fatigued and his mind was becoming overwhelmed by frustration. His eager inexperience was clouding his judgment and his form was beginning to suffer. As the fight continued Dak became little more than a human battering ram. As Numa blocked yet another attack, Dak let out a roar and plowed into his opponent with his shoulder. The sheer force of the attack was enough to knock Numa to the ground where Dak climbed on top of her and managed to place her in a head-lock.

Numa struggled to break free, but nothing she did to extricate herself worked. She relaxed her muscles as if to give in to defeat, but then she sprang into action. Numa threw her legs up and over Dak's head until her body was located behind his. Unable to maintain his grip, Dak released Numa and suddenly found himself on the receiving end of Numa's stranglehold. Numa squeezed as hard as she could, choking her opponent into submission.

Dak struggled and thrashed, unable to breathe he began to panic and use up the last precious reserves of air he held within his lungs. His eyes began to see white spots as his brain was deprived of oxygen. Dak's frantic thrashing slowed until he finally stopped moving as he was rendered unconscious. As his body slumped in Numa's arms, the captain of the Battle Circle sounded the alarm and ended the duel.

Numa released her opponent who slumped into the dirt before his unconscious form was carried away. Numa's panting slowed as she regained control of her breathing and calmed her racing heart. After standing up and composing herself, Numa turned to the captain of the Circle and awaited his judgment.

"The Jedi is the clear and honorable victor."

The fighting continued for another twenty minutes. Numa fought two new competitors who had joined the circle that morning. They were strong and skilled, but like Dak they were both young and inexperienced. Numa was able to best them and came out of the duels no worse for wear. The last duel left Numa with a few bruises and a bloody lip, but she emerged victorious and readied herself for her rematch with Taral.

Taral entered the Battle Circle, his blood red lightsaber active in his hand. The blade was held behind his back as it so often was. He then stood like a statue as he waited for his opponent to gather her weapon and make the first move. Numa used the Force to call her lightsaber to her hand; the pommel was still warm despite being discarded nearly thirty minutes ago.

Numa activated her new lightsaber and watched as the blood-red blade sprang forth. The sight would have proven to be very startling had any of the spectators been Jedi. Red lightsabers have always been taboo amongst the Jedi, but in this day and age it was actually forbidden for a Jedi to wield the color of the Sith.

"How ya like your new gear, babe?"

Babe, the word brought a soft smile to her face. They had only known each other for a day or so, but despite this, and their insurmountable philosophical differences, Numa could see that Taral would become a great friend. His playful teasing only strengthened her opinion.

"It's a fine weapon, though I must say it's not really my color, but I'll make do until I figure out how to take it apart."

When she had first received the lightsaber she had indeed attempted to replace the ruby crystal with something more appropriate for a Jedi. But, there were no screws, no compartments; the lightsabers pommel appeared to be a solid piece of steel. But Taral was able to install the focusing crystal, so there had to be a way to dismantle the thing.

"Let's see what you've learned, Obi-Tits Kenobi"

Taral lunged at Numa, his lightsaber held at an inverse. When he was close to Numa he whipped his arm upward, as if he were performing an uppercut. His red blade burned through the air in the blink of an eye. Numa was just barely able to sidestep the attack when Taral spun his body around; simultaneously switching the lightsaber to the standard grip before slamming his blade into Numa's as if he were swinging a club. The force of the blow was enough to throw Numa off balance; she was able to keep herself from falling but not much else. Taral's attacks were relentless, battering away at her defenses as he did everything he could to keep her from concentrating.

Numa had studied the Form 3 technique as best she could in the few hours since she first read the datapad. Her form was incredibly sloppy, amateur to be sure. But she held her ground and managed to block every attack Taral threw at her. His skills were superior, but Numa was still unsure of just how skilled Taral was. This had been her only experience seeing him fight. She had a feeling he was holding back, but there was no way to be sure.

Taral attacked her like he was a seasoned master, putting a lowly Padawan in her place. His form was flawless, but at the same time it was unorthodox. For every standard technique he used, Taral then improvised to throw his opponent of balance. It was an organic technique which had saved Taral's life on half-a-dozen occasions. Much like the reverse grip, improvising was entirely self-taught. His Masters had always stressed the orthodox when teaching, but they also encouraged him to use whatever means necessary to kill his enemies.

Taral continued to pummel Numa's defenses with hard, fast strikes. He was using a modified version of Ataru, striking out with unpredictable patterns of attack. Some were high and fast while others came in wide, slow arcs. Taral kept himself at half-speed to draw out Numa's hidden talents, as they appeared he gradually put more effort into his attacks.

Numa kept her blade close to her body as was common with the Soresu technique. It allowed her to quickly move her lightsaber while using minimum effort. A seasoned Soresu master could wear out any opponent they fought before striking them down. Unfortunately Numa was nowhere near that level.

Seeking to end the duel, Taral threw his lightsaber at Numa. The red blade spun until it appeared to be a spinning red disk hurtling towards its Jedi target. Numa swatted the lightsaber away and watched as the spinning disk flew off in the other direction. Turning her attention toward her opponent, Numa realized that Taral was now unarmed. Sensing an opportunity she launched herself at Taral and began swinging her lightsaber, desperately trying to strike down her foe. But Taral managed to dodge every single attack. He would duck when the blade came near his head, he would jump when it would come near his feet, and he would sidestep every mid-body attack.

As Numa's frustrations built her form became even sloppier. Numa's attacks quickly degraded into incoherent swatting, as if she were trying to kill an annoying dekk fly. Sensing his own opportunity to end the duel, Taral used the Force to push Numa back to the edge of the Battle Circle. Taral then made a quick dash head-long toward Numa.

When he was just a few feet away Taral leapt into the air and flattened himself out above Numa's head. As he rose above her head Numa noticed that Taral's forgotten lightsaber was spinning toward her head, she had been so focused on Taral charge that Numa did not realize the lightsaber was hidden behind her opponent. Numa was able to block the flying lightsaber, but she was unable to stop Taral from landing behind her. Once he was in position, Taral grabbed Numa's shoulder with one hand and caught the pommel of his lightsaber with the other. With their lightsabers intertwined Numa was now completely immobilized and was forced to wait for Taral's next move.

Taral let out a roar as he gripped the fabric covering Numa's shoulder and lifted her into the air, their lightsabers still intertwined. Taral then threw Numa to the ground causing her to drop her lightsaber which rolled to the edge of the Battle Circle as it was deactivated. Taral lunged at Numa and gripped the front of her robes. Taral held his blade to Numa's throat and smiled to himself, reveling in his meaningless victory.

"Give up?"

"No."

Taral's small smile disappeared, replaced by a look of confusion. As he looked lower, Taral saw Numa's hand between his legs with the emitter of her lightsaber held against the crotch of his pants. Numa had used the Force to call her lightsaber to her hand before Taral had noticed. Seeing the precarious situation he was in, Taral laughed and deactivated his lightsaber before standing up and offering his hand to Numa, helping her to her feet.

"You're getting better."

Numa smiled as she sensed the truth in Taral's compliment. But her smile quickly faded as she saw the angry eyes of a Jedi Master glaring at her. Grand Master Undien had arrived at the camp only five minutes ago, accompanied by a small entourage of Jedi Knights. Among them was Undien's former Padawan, Vetor Paal; Vetor's expression matched every disapproving crease on Master Undien's face, an obvious sign of the young Jedi's arrogance and deference to his master. Master Undien had hoped to commandeer the three Jedi Knights who were supposed to be in the camp, but instead he had learned that only one remained in the camp and he had just witnessed that Jedi dueling with a red blade. Worse yet, she was dueling someone who was not a member of the Order, but the duel was not true combat. She was sparring with a non-Jedi and that fact alone infuriated Master Undien.

"Master Undien!"

Adrienne quickly approached the Jedi Master and gave him a deep bow, but the scowl that plastered the elderly man's face only deepened.

"You forget your place Ms. Lestin, dueling this boy who has not earned the right to carry that weapon. And what's worse, you wield a red blade… they are forbidden."

"Forgive me Master, I tried to replace the focusing crystal but the lightsaber cannot be taken apart."

"Why would you build such a lightsaber?" Undien said, a tone of confusion breaking through his malice.

"I… I didn't. Taral built it for me after he destroyed my old one in a previous duel."

The fact that she had not built the lightsaber was the final straw. His anger reached a level that threatened to shatter his semi-calm demeanor. He decided that the best way to deal with the wayward Jedi was to talk to her in private.

"Step aside Ms. Lestin; we will deal with your transgressions later."

Numa bowed her head in shame and stepped outside the boundaries of the Battle Circle and stood next to the group of Jedi, Master Undien had brought with him. Though the gathered Jedi had no reason to look at her with hate, Master Undien's words had altered their perceptions and they began to look at Numa as if she were a traitor to the Order. Master Undien turned his attentions to the young man standing in front of him.

"I know every Jedi in the Galaxy… and I do not know you."

"The shit you don't know could fill a database!" Taral replied with unconcealed malice.

"Do not speak as if there is authority behind your words, you are nothing. You're no Jedi; you would never have been accepted into our ranks."

"Like I give a shit about joining your Order. I'm stronger than all you fucks combined!"

"You are weak and misguided. You are absent in the Force, no better than these thugs." Master Undien said as he tilted his head toward the Mandalorian onlookers. "But I can sense the dark side in you; even if you were beneath me, which you are, it is my duty to destroy that which is evil."

"Bold words for a cowardly old man. You really think you can defeat me?"

"You may fancy yourself an all powerful Dark Jedi, but as far as I'm concerned you're nothing but a criminal. You have no right to carry that lightsaber!"

Taral's face became distorted by anger and annoyance. He knew himself and he knew his power, this Jedi was an ignorant fool who was running his mouth into an early grave. The Jedi was as disrespectful as any Taral had encountered, it was time to teach him some manners, but not before he told the arrogant Master who he was challenging.

"It is not some pitiful dark Jedi you face, _Grand Master_. I am a Sith Lord!" Taral said, spacing the final sentence apart into three separate stanzas unintentionally creating a dramatic tone.

Undien gave Taral an arrogant sneer; he could not sense any power within the boy. Taral appeared to be borderline Force-deaf and yet he claimed to be an all powerful Sith Lord. Undien believed he outmatched the boy in every conceivable area and truly felt Taral to be an opponent who was beneath him.

Undien charged Taral with his blue lightsaber held high expecting to strike down his opponent without effort. And Taral just stood there, waiting, his lightsaber held inactive in his right hand. But as Undien brought his blade down, Taral activated his lightsaber and blocked the Jedi's blade just before it made contact with Taral's shoulder. Taral grinned at the surprised look on Master Undien's face before pushing the Jedi back.

The force of Taral's shove had caught the old Master off guard. Undien had underestimated his opponent, but he was not ready to concede the fact that he was fighting a Sith Lord. The Jedi Master believed, much like the rest of the galaxy, that the Sith were extinct. If he could just focus on the fight, Undien was confident he could kill the arrogant boy who claimed to be a Sith.

Taral was curious about Undien's true capabilities. Though Taral's master had long disparaged the old Jedi, Taral had learned long ago to form his own opinions of others. His master had been manipulating Undien for years by nurturing Undien's inherently corrupt psyche. The old man was desperate to increase his own power and the power of his friends in the Alliance. This made Undien extraordinarily susceptible to the manipulations of the Sith Order.

Taral wanted to tell the Jedi all these things, to reveal just how ignorant the Jedi truly were. Even if Undien refused to believe it, his confidence would have been wounded and his concentration on the duel would have waned. But Taral decided against doing so. He had been taught that every tool with a purpose must not be cast aside. Undien still had his uses and there could be a day when his corruption proved useful to Taral's schemes.

It was then that it occurred to Taral that he had no schemes. He was a Sith without a plan or path or even a goal. He had gone rogue from the Order, but now he realized that he was left without a purpose. Several ideas began to swell within his mind as he leisurely deflected Undien's lightsaber. Taral could rule the galaxy or maybe find a place to hide. There were so many possibilities to consider; the most attractive seemed to be suicide, but it remained the death of a coward and therefore not an option.

Taral pushed the thoughts from his mind and focused on the Jedi he was dueling. The Jedi had been a battering ram since the start of the duel; there was finesse but no hidden power. Undien put everything he had into the fight, without a dramatic buildup of skill the duel felt tired and boring.

Undien was using Form 2, the Makashi technique, a style favored by duelists who took part in one-on-one lightsaber duels. In the hands of a true master, like Darth Tyranus, there were few who could stand against the precision of the style. Unfortunately for Master Undien, he was not the blade master he thought he was.

Makashi relied on weak swatting motions which could be easily deflected or overpowered. Taral allowed the Jedi to batter away at his defenses. Each time Undien swung his blade; Taral would catch it with his own lightsaber and deflect it away. The pattern continued for several minutes, each failed attack caused Master Undien to become more frustrated. His attacks became erratic and they lost the finesse they once had. Undien's mind was rattled and he was now vulnerable to a counter attack.

But Taral never raised his blade to attack. Instead the young Sith remained on the defensive, analyzing his opponent's technique. It had occurred to Taral that modern Jedi often relied on a pattern of attacks when dueling. If someone studies a Jedi long enough the pattern would emerge and the Jedi could be struck down with impunity. It was the sort of observation that was perfect for Dun Möch, the technique for destroying an opponent's morale with discouraging words. As the red and blue beams clashed, Taral chose that moment to reveal his observations.

"There's something I've noticed about the Jedi, and you in particular. Wanna know what it is?"

Undien did not reply. Instead he gritted his teeth, barely managing to hold Taral back. Their sabers remained intertwined, red against blue creating a purple hue at the point of contact. A very real fear gripped Undien's heart as realization set in; the old master would not win.

"You're predictable." Taral said with a smirk.

Taral pushed against Undien's blade with enough force to push the Jedi back a few steps. Taral flipped his blade behind his back as he usually did when his blade was idle. Taral knew what the Jedi would do even before the duel began; Undien would charge at Taral in an attempt to overpower him. Undien was hoping to show off to the crowd of gathered Mandalorians and Jedi, his vanity blinding him to his weaknesses.

Grand Master Undien had many skills and he had honed them all equally. But this equality of knowledge was the one thing which made him so weak. So focused on mastering all his skills, Undien had failed to master any. Instead he commanded several skills at an above-average level. His ability with the blade was no different and if he had spent more time practicing, he would not have made the mistake he was about to.

As if on cue, Undien charged with his lightsaber held high and brought the blue beam down on Taral. The attack would have split Taral length-wise had he not side-stepped the attack. As Undien's blade arced down, Taral brought his blade up. Still holding his lightsaber in an inverted manner, the counter attack looked like an uppercut with a lightsaber attached to it.

The red blade cut through the thin fabric of the Jedi Master's sleeves and sliced through his forearms. Cloth, flesh, bone, nothing could stop the superheated beam of plasma as it separated Undien's arms from his body. The smell of burnt flesh and bone filled the nostrils of those close enough to get a whiff. Undien fell to his knees in shock, for the briefest moment he was silent, but as the moment passed he screamed in agony.

"My arms!"

"Your arms?" Taral said before unleashing a bolt of force lightning on his helpless victim. "Not anymore." Taral said, a dark smile crossing his face as he unleashed another bolt of Force lightning.

As the broken Jedi writhed on the ground his severed hands began to twitch. The flesh began to dry out and mummify, though no one noticed. The onlookers were too enraptured by the spectacle of Master Undien's torture to notice the shriveled husks that were once attached to the Jedi.

The darkside was sucking the faint essences of life and Force energy from the hands. The energies contained within the severed arms were too minute to resist the pull of a Force wound. The hands were now completely dead and could no longer be reattached to their former owner. This was a natural process; the visceral hunger of his wound was too much for Taral to control sometimes. There was nothing he could do to prevent the Force from draining the severed limbs.

But the meager scraps that constituted Undien's arms did little to satiate the ravenous hunger buried deep within Taral's soul. It wanted more, but to drain the Jedi Master completely would require Taral's cooperation. The darkside tried to seduce Taral into draining Undien's life force, tempting him with promises of greater power. But Taral ignored the whispers in his mind, he knew the old master was weak, he knew there was no strength in devouring the power of those beneath him. It would only serve to awaken a greater hunger hiding behind the wound. If Taral gave into that hunger, he would not stop. Taral would devour everything until he became the ravenous beast that Lord Nihilus had become. But Taral understood that there was no strength in blind hunger and starvation.

Taral continued to electrocute Master Undien for a few more seconds before abruptly stopping when he felt the unmistakable presence of an all powerful Force-user walking toward the Battle Circle. Javen Panlie had arrived on Dxun several hours prior and after dealing with the Massassi warriors near the tomb of Freedon Nadd he had made a b-line to the small camp ten miles away. He had been eager to meet the young Sith captive Tokare had brought to the camp, but he had not expected to see the aftermath of the captive's duel. Had he known Undien was going to challenge the Sith, he would have made his way to the camp earlier.

As Javen walked up to the edge of the Battle Circle, Taral turned around to look at the new arrival. Taral was hopeful that the new arrival would provide him with some much needed entertainment, since the Javen's Force signature marked him as a powerful Jedi. But the sight of Javen Panlie did not bring any joy to Taral's face. Instead, as recognition dawned in Taral's mind, an expression of intense rage formed on his face.

"YOU!"

Taral's anger boiled over and his eyes turned a sickly yellow as he gave in to the dark side. The spike in dark side energies amplified Taral's Force wound, causing all the grass within the Battle Circle to shrivel and die. But the sight of Javen Panlie brought more than just anger to Taral's mind, it brought so much pain that his mind could not cope with the feelings. A flood of emotion broke through the mental dams Taral constructed long ago. Pain long buried began to surface until his very soul shattered as he recalled everything he had lost. His eyes began to return to their natural, olive-green as he opened his mouth and confronted his enemy with words.

"You took everything from me, EVERYTHING!"

"What are you talking about?" Panlie asked, his confusion hidden behind his calm demeanor.

"Tlon Fett, that's what I'm talking about. Everything he has done since you spared him is your fault. How many have died because of you? How many have been tortured and raped because of YOU? Because of your _mercy_?"

The final word left Taral's mouth with a heavy sneer, as if the very concept of mercy were as meaningless as the superstitions of ancient civilizations. His eyes flashed yellow every time he shouted a word, every time his emotions peaked and fueled the dark side. But every time they flashed yellow, they quickly reverted to green before repeating the cycle.

"I was there, and I watched as everything I held dear burned before my eyes. The rest of us suffer for your clean conscious. You let that monster live just so he could butcher us!"

Javen had never met a non-Mandalorian refugee from one of Tlon Fett's raids. The suffering endured by others for his decisions tore apart his very soul. Javen wanted to explain why he made the choice, why the galaxy had to suffer, but Taral would have none of it. Sensing Javen's intentions, Taral quickly cut him off and continued the emotional rant.

"Don't! …Don't try to justify your actions to me Panlie, you can't. I have nowhere to call home. I have nothing but this pain… I have nothing but these SCARS!"

Caught in the moment, Taral ripped the front of his shirt open. Revealing the disturbing latticework of old scars he had received over the years. Most were faded, but some looked fresh, no more than a few months old.

"And so I live with this pain. Every single day is hell. I... I just wanna die… I just want to die."

Taral's last words left his mouth as a barely audible whisper. But Javen heard every word and though his face remained passive, Javen's feelings were all over the place. Taral was right, everything Tlon Fett did after Javen saved his life, was his fault. It was his responsibility to bring justice to the galaxy and right the wrongs of the past. It was this line of thought that brought Javen's mind to his other prisoner, Vegao Fett. He was the second son of Tlon Fett and would undoubtedly know where his father was and Javen was going to get that information no matter what. Javen pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as he watched Taral walk out of the Battle Circle.

His emotions spent, Taral just wanted to go to his hut and drink himself to sleep. He was desperate to get to the last bottle of Mandalorian fire-water hidden under his bunk. As he made his way out of the Circle, the gathered Jedi and Mandalorians stepped aside to give the distraught young Sith plenty of room. There was one individual who watched the scene with disgust and began yelling at the gathered Jedi.

"Don't just stand there, kill the Sith scum!" Master Undien screamed in frustration.

He had been bested in single combat by someone who, in his eyes, was nothing more than a child. Needless to say Undien was furious; he was supposed to be the best, a grand master. And yet this boy had turned the Jedi Master into an untrained Padawan with a few short swipes of his lightsaber.

Despite Undien's orders, none of the Jedi Knights standing around their fallen master made a move as they were too stunned by the day's events. They finally came to once they heard the snap-hiss of a blue lightsaber behind them. The blade belonged to the most confident of them, a Jedi by the name of Vetor Paal. Completely loyal to Master Undien and arrogant beyond compare, Vetor was the first to snap out of his daze and follow Master Undien's orders. At the sight of Vetor's lightsaber the other Jedi snapped to action and drew their lightsabers, though they were now armed none of them dared to move. The only Jedi to remain idle was Numa; she stood there and watched the scene with her inactive lightsaber hanging from her hip. She knew better than to draw her blade against Taral in anything other than a mock duel.

Taral seemed to be oblivious to the world around him as he continued his slow trek to his quarters; Taral, like the Jedi around him, was shell-shocked. Pouring his soul out to the man who had inadvertently murdered his entire family had left Taral drained and dangerously close to giving into his darker tendencies. To confront a Sith Lord in such an unstable emotional state is unwise, especially a Sith Lord as powerful as Taral.

But Vetor was nothing if not unwise and over confident. Guided by arrogance and even greater ignorance, Vetor ran toward Taral with his lightsaber held high. Vetor brought his blade down in an attempt to cut into Taral's neck and take the Sith's head. But as the blade neared the Sith it stopped, and every muscle in Vetor's body was frozen. This paralysis was imperceptible to those witnessing the spectacle, as it only lasted a fraction of a fraction of a second.

Unlike the others however, Taral could see everything, every fiber of Vetor's being was frozen in mid-attack. Time had slowed to a crawl as Taral reached out with the Force and extended several blades of invisible energy. The energy passed right through Vetor, seemingly without notice.

This discharge of raw Force energy brought Taral back to reality and time sped up and became normal once more. He watched as the frozen Jedi in front of him felt the full effect of the attack, an excruciating pain that lasted for only the briefest of seconds. Flesh and muscle were separated by the Force, but not actually cut. His body fell to pieces, blood spurting in every direction until the dying Jedi was hidden behind a cloud of his own blood. The dark technique created a pressure vacuum around the body, when the body's cells were separated the pieces were torn apart as violently as if they had been hacked off with a gammorean battle ax.

To those watching from the outside it seemed as if Vetor had just exploded into a cloud of viscera and ichor. The Jedi had attacked the distraught Sith and simply exploded into a dozen pieces after reaching Taral. Even Javen was not able to perceive the intricacies of Vetor's death, though he was able to sense the surge of dark energy emanating from the broken Sith Lord. And as soon as it appeared, the energy seemed to dissipate as it was consumed by Lord Taral's Force wound.

Taral was covered in a blanket of warm, red blood; the liquid flowed down his arm and dripped off the tips of his fingers. Taral tuned out the world and continued his slow trek away from the Battle Circle. As he stepped in the slowly growing pool of blood surrounding the pile of Jedi meat, Taral left a trail of red footprints which were visible on the moist blades of grass as he walked toward the camp's showers. This long and arduous day was finally over.

* * *

**Author's Commentary:**

Boy time sure does fly when you're reading the greatest story ever written. Have you ever heard that saying before? Time flies when you're reading, without a doubt, the greatest literary masterpiece in human history! Bit of a clunky slogan, but it fits.

**Chapter 2 Concepts:**

This chapter was built around the interactions between Taral and Numa, something that will become central to the story as the plot progresses.

Originally Taral was meant to be restrained at the beginning of the chapter before being approached by both Tokare and Gustav Fett. Believing Gustav was actually Tlon Fett, Taral lifted him into the air and broke his arms and legs while saying "this little gizka went to market, this little…" etc. etc. (had I included that scene I would have removed the little piggy reference as too childish). Later scenes had Gustav in the hospital recovering. ***see deleted scenes below**

I always had trouble putting my thoughts to paper with this chapter. The duel with Undien always took place in a room inside a building. Either on a Mandalorian ship or a Mandalorian planet. This was the case even after I had settled on Dxun as the setting. During the duel, when Undien loses his hands, Taral was originally meant to use the Force or his lightsaber to manually destroy the severed hands. This was replaced in the final draft.

**Character Concepts:**

**Taral**

Now that Taral is in a safe zone he can be himself… and apparently he's a total asshole. His personality will evolve with each chapter until he matures and realizes his full potential.

There was meant to be an extended scene during the painkiller snorting, where Taral would snort a line before putting on his earphones and listening to music. He would have then subconsciously projected the music into the minds of everyone in the mess hall. This was the thought process I used to create Taral's tortured background (I imagined him listening to sad music in a cell and projecting his bad memories to those around him. The song I was listening to was "Behind Blue Eyes").

**Numa**

I can't recall when I decided to add Numa to the story. I based her off of the female twi'lek exile mod at file/Female_Twilek_Exile_Appearance;75052

**Deleted Scene:**

"… will see you soon _ner buir_. Mandalore's Honor will be in orbit in four hours." (**father**)

"I'll see you then _ner ad_." Gustav said just before the holo-image of his daughter cut out. (**daughter**)

He had seen Runi just two days ago, but nothing would make him happier at that moment than to see his daughter one more time. Today had become one of the most miserable days of his life. Though it could not compare to the betrayal of his brother or the day Runi was kidnapped, today was still a shitty day. Gustav's body had been crushed in the hands of a Sith, the same Sith who had previously massacred two dozen Mandalorians aboard the Gayiyli and the same Sith who had raided the data cache on Felucia.

Confined to a hospital bed, Gustav's limbs were confined to four large plaster castes. Both sets of bones in his arms were broken, not only the humerus but both the radius and ulna, as well as both sets in his legs, the femur in addition to the tibia and fibula. Even with the advanced medicine of the Mandalorian Union, Gustav would be out of commission for some time until his bones healed. This hospital bed would become his command post until Gustav can return to service.

Gustav started to doze off when he heard the door to his room swoosh open. He looked up through his squinted, tired eyes. But the sight that greeted him swept aside the drug-induced sleep that had claimed Gustav's body just a moment ago. There in the door way stood the very man who had placed Gustav in this hospital.

"I hope you're doing well after your accident." Taral said with a slight grin.

"Accident? ACCIDENT! You did this to me, it was *no* accident." Gustav said. That little comment had sent the old Mandalorian over the edge. The boy was mocking him and pretending that he had nothing to do with the current situation.

"_I_ caused this? There must be some mistake; I had heard you fell down a flight of stairs. Or maybe you ran into a door, something like that. You Mandalorians are just so clumsy, always hurting yourselves." Taral said. His small grin had grown into a face splitting smile as played his game with the fallen warrior.

"Clumsy? Oh I get it; you're making me out to be some battered wife with you as my violent husband. I'm already married; I don't need to take up with some boy." Gustav said. His annoyance dripping from every word.

"Ouch, that really hurts. Though not as much as being tossed around like a ragdoll and being sent to an infirmary I would imagine. I didn't come here to fight, I came to apologize." Taral said as he reached into his bag and presented Gustav with a box of cigars and a bottle of Corellian rum.

Gustav was taken aback by this gesture. He never expected the boy to apologize, let alone bring a get well soon basket of goodies.

"Why would you apologize? And what are you apologizing for exactly?" Gustav said. The memories of his own beating were quickly overshadowed by the dozen-plus Mandalorians Taral had killed the previous day.

"I'm sorry I killed your men. And I'm sorry I crushed you like a bug. I had thought they were in the employ of Tlon Fett." Taral said. "The doctor said I was being taken to Colonel Fett, and I assumed it was Colonel Tlon Fett. So I escaped and killed those who would stand in my way. I had thought myself too weak to fight them; but I guess I underestimated myself, or overestimated you Mandalorians."

The last remark caused Gustav's eyes to flash with anger, though he remained silent. His men were the best the galaxy has to offer and normally they would be able to handle a situation like Taral's escape. But the boy had been too much for them; it was as if they had stood against the full fury of Mandalore himself.

"Being Fett's prisoner is nothing short of a tragedy. I doubt he nor his men could stand against me, so perhaps my fears were unfounded. But being the prisoner of a monster like Fett, well perhaps you'd be better off dead if that were your circumstance." Taral said as he poured a tall glass of rum for himself.

"What do you know of my brother that would cause you such fear?" Gustav asked. He was genuinely curious about the boy's thought processes and he was even more curious how he knew Tlon Fett.

Taral lifted the glass of rum to his lips and downed the entire pint of alcohol. The gentle burn of the rum warming his body and taking off the edge he felt within the Mandalorian compound. But more than his discomfort in this place, he needed help with the current conversation. It is difficult to admit wrong-doing, but it is much more painful to express your inner demons. Taral stared at the empty glass in his hands for minute or so before he opened his mouth to speak.

"I was thirteen when Fett came to my home. We lived in a small colony on the outer rim. He and his men butchered everyone. All I could hear were their screams as they were cut down by the pack of jackals Fett brought with him. And then they lit a great fire which consumed the colony. Everyone was dead, except me. The lone survivor of a terrible massacre." Taral said.

His eyes were dry of tears but full of sadness and regret. This was the story of his endless nightmare which he must suffer through every night.

"I wish I were dead, I wish I had been one of the lucky to have been killed. Instead I walk around with this burden of guilt. And no matter what I do the screams never cease. I continue to hear them in my dreams, and I dream of nothing but the pain." Taral said. His voice had grown quiet in reverence of the lives lost.

Gustav felt nothing but shame listening to the boy's history. It seemed that there was nothing his brother did, that Gustav was not ashamed of. This massacre that the boy spoke of was just one of many atrocities carried out by Tlon Fett. More dishonor brought to bear on Clan Fett because of Gustav's brother.

[[Do you see what I meant in the Chapter 1 notes when I said Taral was a whiny douche bag? Well this was the scene I was talking about.]]


	3. Gettin' the hell out of Dodge

I appreciate the lone review I received and I especially appreciate constructive criticism, but if you're going to give me such advice then please be specific. Telling me that I'm made mistakes that can be found during a read-through means nothing to me. That's because I don't post until I've reread and edited at least ten times. Since I didn't catch it before I posted, I'm never going to catch it.

Here we go people, Chapter 3. See you for the next update in a year and a half.

* * *

Taral entered the small building which served as a communal shower. A trail of bloody footprints was left in his wake for all to see and anyone to follow. Using the Force he shredded his blood-stained clothes and left them in a heap near the wall. There was blood dripping off his face and arms, but not a drop belonged to him.

The red fluids that coated his body and clothes once belonged to a headstrong young Jedi named Vetor Paal. But Vetor was foolish and attacked Taral only to be torn limb from limb by the Force. Despite the vicious and brutal way in which Vetor died, Taral barely remembered it. After speaking with Javen Panlie for the first time, Taral was emotionally drained and barely coherent.

Dragging his feet slowly across the tile on the shower floor, Taral approached one of the shower heads. He did not bother to turn it on, content to stand there with his hands pushing against the wall. Reaching out with the Force, Taral turned the knobs and was rewarded with a steady stream of ice cold water. The water poured onto his head and through the light stubble of his hair, washing away the blood that covered his face. As the water at his feet became pink from the blood, the water began to warm and become hot. Relaxing his muscles in the hot spray, Taral slowly drifted off into a waking dream.

* * *

**It was dark, the shadows on the walls would flicker and slither across the jagged architecture. A woman stood in front of a fireplace, staring into the flame. The dim light given off by the fire gave her red skin a darker complexion, as if she were covered in human blood. Turning around she fixed her eyes on the kneeling figure before her. His body was tense with lean muscles drawn taut as he waited anxiously for her to speak. When she finally opened her mouth and spoke, he clung to her every word.**

"**You were weak when I found you. I did not expect you to survive your training, but now your hatred has become your strength and the dark side is your ally." She says in a seductively confident voice.**

**Taral kept his head down and remained passive, but the excitement and pride bubbling beneath the surface was overwhelming. He had survived everything they threw at him and he had triumphed over his rivals. **

"**Your teachings gave me strength, mistress. Without you I would be nothing." Taral said without raising his head.**

"**Indeed."**

**The woman walks up to Taral and places a hand beneath his chin, coaxing him to look up. Her amber eyes stared into his, a hungry desire flashed across her face as she grabbed the back of his head and forced him between her legs. She let out a sigh as he began planting kisses between her legs. As the pleasure grew she threw her head back and let out a quiet moan, losing herself in the pleasure.**

**Seeing his mistress distracted by the fog of ecstasy, Taral removed his face from her crotch and lifted her into the air as he stood to his full height. His mistress wrapped her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist.**

"**You're mine tonight, Vathila."**

**As he finished the words Taral lowered his head into a passionate kiss. Vathila returned the embrace with a hunger that Taral had come to adore during his time with the Sith. Still embroiled in the kiss Taral carried his master to the large bed near the fireplace, the two of them fell to the silken sheets and began groping each other. Taral flipped Vathila onto her belly, her ruby colored buttocks staring up at him. Taral climbed on top of her and began to thrus-**

* * *

It was at that moment Taral snapped back to reality. He was back in the communal shower on Dxun; the hot water poured down his body and flowed uncomfortably over his loins. Taral turned the shower knob and quickly doused his erection with cold water. He momentarily considered masturbating, but decided against it. He was more than capable of finding female companionship and did not need to lower himself in such a way.

Taral turned the water off and stood in the shower a moment. The shower room was warm and filled with steam, but the air left Taral's skin chill. Small bumps began to form on his arms and legs as his body tried to fend off the cold. Reaching out with the Force, Taral concentrated on the water that still covered his body, as his concentration grew, the water molecules began to vibrate as the Force excited the particles. In an instant Taral's body disappeared behind a cloud of water vapor which quickly dissipated, his body left completely dry.

Taral had never given much thought to this ability. He assumed he was simply converting the liquid water to steam through heat energy. But the truth was more subtle, and powerful. Though he never realized it, Taral was actually splitting the molecules into their base elements of oxygen and hydrogen gas. It could become a powerful technique, if Taral were to ever recognize it.

Taral walked out of the shower into the adjacent changing room where had left his bloody clothes. He had no use for his soiled clothes and he had neglected to bring a clean set when he entered the shower. Using the Force he summoned his lightsaber to his hand and walked outside into the warm Dxun twilight, his discarded clothes left in the pile behind him. Everyone who saw him took notice, it is not every day that a naked Sith walks through camp, but no one acknowledged or tried to stop him. The men tended to glance for a moment before returning their attentions elsewhere. The women were more prone to stare, though whether they stared with lust or disgust was unclear and in Taral's mind, irrelevant.

Taral made his way toward his hut, but as he approached he sensed the presence of another within. Gripping his lightsaber tightly, Taral opened the door and prepared to strike down the intruder. But as he looked inside his shoulders relaxed and his grip loosened. Sitting on his cot was the twi'lek he had dueled earlier. She was sitting with her legs crossed, likely meditating before Taral had arrived. Sensing his presence she opened her eyes, only to blush brightly at the sight in front of her. She stared for a moment before forcing herself to look up. Opening her mouth to speak, Numa's words came out in a stutter.

"W-what… um, what h-happened to your clothes?" Numa said unable to hide the shock in her voice.

"Blood. Why are you here?"

Numa swallowed, trying to calm herself so she could explain herself. She managed to calm her thoughts, but her cheeks would not stop glowing. Ignoring her body, Numa focused on why she had come.

"I came to see if you were alright."

Taral furrowed his brow in confusion.

"...Why me and not the Jedi? Why not your Master?"

Numa was silent, unable to answer the question. She began to fidget in her seat, her eyes lowered so she would not have to look Taral in the eyes. She was conflicted and filled with doubt, something that Taral quickly picked up on.

"I see. You are plagued by doubt, how interesting. There are no answers here. So why have you really come?"

Numa thought about her reasons for a moment before replying. She decided it was better to be honest with Taral, since he would see through any lie and would likely hurt her in response.

"I'm curious. About you, about the Sith."

"Dangerous topics for a Jedi. No doubt the masters would frown upon it."

"Only if I were to study the dark arts. History and information is hardly forbidden."

"Maybe, but I have no interest in an apprentice. My only concern is getting off this rock and finding something I lost."

"What did you lose?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Numa was silent as Taral stared at her. His look was not one of malice but rather a mask of indifference, as if he cared nothing for anyone or anything beyond himself.

"I saw what you did to poor Vetor; I imagine you have quite a few tricks up your sleeve. What's stopping you from leaving?"

Taral's face scrunched up into a scowl, before quickly reverting to a mild frown. Her curiosity was beginning to wear on his nerves. Though he could not blame her for seeking answers, he would have done the same in her position. Perhaps it was his own fault for indulging her.

"I will leave, and face Panlie, when the time is right. Don't pretend to be my friend just because you want to fuck me, if your masters told you to kill me you'd try." Taral spat.

Numa blushed at the accusation and tried to deflect as best she could.

"I _was_ told to kill you, Master Undien gave the order but I never drew my blade."

"You didn't attack because you knew you were outmatched, you're smarter than the others. Certainly smarter than that insect I squished after the duel."

"Vetor was a good man, but he was always a showoff."

"He was weak; do not pity him. Do not defend his actions or his abilities. He was a fool and he died like one."

"He died fighting a worthy opponent; he left this world with an honorable death."

"Glory is a fool's prize. Honor is of no use to the dead. He was weak and he is not worth remembering."

"Hmm. Must be a Sith thing."

"It was... once." Taral said in a bitter tone.

"We'll have to agree to disagree then."

"You'll never make a good apprentice with that attitude."

Numa was about to counter Taral's accusation, but the glare he gave made her falter. Taral was still on edge from earlier and did not seem to be in a chatty mood. This was made all the more apparent when next he spoke.

"I'm done talking, now get out." Taral said with a slight tilt of his head toward the door.

Numa hesitated for the briefest moment before doing as she was told. Taral continued to sit on the edge of his cot as Numa walked out of the door to his hut into the beginnings of a light drizzle outside. Taral sat for a moment more before letting out a heavy sigh and rising to his feet. Taral checked his supplies to make sure he had clothes for tomorrow, finding everything in order he pulled the bed covers to the side and climbed into his cot for the night. His eyes slid shut and he slowly drifted off to sleep. But his face turned to a grimace as he slept; no doubt his mind was uncomfortable with the demons that plagued his nightmares.

* * *

Several hours later Taral awoke with a start, something was amiss. The activity outside his hut felt hurried, maybe even frantic. Pushing himself off of his small cot, Taral grabbed a new set of clothes from the small stack near the door. Once he was dressed in his dark gray clothes, Taral walked out of his hut into the merciless humidity of mid-morning Dxun.

Mandalorians were running to and fro, gathering their things and loading them on the nearby freighters. Everyone had mobilized to tear down the camp as quickly as possible. Mandalore had given orders to the camp's commanders to uproot and move everything to the main encampment.

Taral could hear their thoughts in the wind. He had no need to ask the scurrying soldiers when he could get the information from their surface thoughts. Everything, including Taral, would be relocated to the main base just outside of Freedon Nadd's Tomb.

Taral's mind salivated at the possibility of visiting Nadd's tomb. He had heard tales of dark secrets hidden within the temple, unknown power just waiting to be used. Taral was not so foolish as to believe such wishful thinking. This temple was under Mandalorian protection and any secrets would have discovered and hidden away elsewhere. Still, visiting a Sith tomb was always a worthwhile trip. A chance to glean inspiration from a temple built for a long dead madman.

Taral made his way to a troop transport near the communications building. It was a Saarebas-class Assault Transport, a Mandalorian evolution of the Republic Gunship used during the Clone Wars. The Saarebas was occupied by twenty Mandalorians who were packed into the troop bay the ship looked like a bloated hutt or overstuffed can of food. The troops began to tense up as they saw Taral approach, any comfort they felt would quickly evaporate if they had to share a ride with their Sith prisoner. The pilot and co-pilot took note of the Sith's approach.

"Looks like that Sith bastard wants a ride." The co-pilot said with disgust.

"He can find another transport." The pilot said as he franticly hit the buttons and switches on his console.

The ships thrusters came to life and lifted the craft off of the ground. But as the ship began to move forward, there was a jarring shake as the transport came to a stop. Taral stood nearby with his arm held out; the Force prevented the Mandalorians from escaping. Taral brought his arm down and through the Force the transport dropped to the ground.

"Damn it! Open the thrusters all the way, see if we can break free!" The pilot said to his co-pilot.

Taral jumped aboard and stood near the edge of the transport's opening, his hand held a leather strap attached to the ceiling which allowed him to keep his balance. Once he was situated, Taral released his control of the ship. The pilot was still trying to break free of Taral's grasp when the Force dissipated. The ship jolted from the ground and began careening toward the camp's armory. The pilot was able to gain control of the transport after wrestling with the controls and stabilizing the flight pattern.

Everyone remained quiet, but their anger colored the air a bright red. Taral's only reaction was to smirk as he stared out at endless carpet of green canopies which were only occasionally broken up by rock formations and bodies of water. Many of the lakes were unnaturally circular. Dxun was a battlefield during the Mandalorian War and even now the craters remained from the bombing campaign. But off in the distance was something unique amongst the foliage, it was their destination.

It stood before Taral, a black and ominous spire jutting out from a large pyramid at its base, surrounded by foliage and rock. The final resting place of Freedon Nadd, the Sith king of Onderon. Thousands of years ago, after Nadd's body failed him; the king's remains were placed within the foreboding structure and left in relative peace. During the time of the Great Sith War, the tomb was discovered by Exar Kun. Kun sought wisdom from the ancient Sith, but what he found was more than he could have imagined. Exar Kun met with the spirit of Freedon Nadd and trained beneath the specter in the ways of the Sith.

The history that Taral could see before him brought euphoric feelings throughout his body. The excitement was enough to make his knees weak. During his time in exile from the Sith Order, Taral had attempted to find Sith relics around the Galaxy, but they were exceedingly rare these days. Artifacts had long since been destroyed or hidden away by either the Sith or the Jedi. Sith ruins were almost none existent, Taral had only been able to visit the Malachor V asteroid belt in an attempt to see the ruins of the Trayus Academy. Though he was able to learn a great deal of the nature of the dark side, Taral found nothing but rocks and dust and the whispers of long dead souls.

Taral had wanted to visit the Valley of the Dark Lords on Korriban, but it was too much of a risk. The Sith had eyes and ears on Korriban and the Mandalorians had a data cache they were protecting. At the time, Taral was not ready to confront either group and decided to disappear into the galactic core worlds. It ended up a moot point since he was captured anyway. When you are on the run you will always be caught, it is only a matter of time.

Taral's jubilation disappeared as quickly as it had come. As he reached out with Force he felt a sickeningly warm aura, those that had claimed the tomb, Panlie's predecessors, had purged the stone of dark side energy. All that remained was the faintest echo of long forgotten power. Taral knew this was to be expected, but the Jedi's desecration of the tomb still angered him. Forcing back his anger, Taral was able to sense the faintest wisps of power emanating from inside the tomb. Though the structure itself was nearly devoid of the dark side, there appeared to be several artifacts within that would likely peak Taral's interest.

The Saarebas Transport began it landing sequence, a safety protocol that took mere seconds. But with his excitement at peak levels, Taral had become impatient. The seconds seemed to drone on like hours. As the transport lowered itself, Taral leapt out and landed twenty feet below. Taral began walking at a brisk pace across the field that surrounded the temple.

The ground within ten yards of the pyramid's steps was devoid of all plant life. The corruption of the dark side had poisoned the soil and left a permanent dead zone around the tomb. The plant-life of Dxun was some of the most aggressive in the galaxy, easily overgrowing any non-Dxun environment it is imported to regardless of the nutrient quality of the soil. The corruption of the temple must have been fierce to keep such flora at bay.

Taral's boots sank lightly into the mud as he entered the dead-zone. Whatever power had once been present was long gone. As he approached the bottom steps, Taral's journey came to an abrupt halt as a dozen Mandalorian guards materialized on the tomb's steps. Mandalorian stealth technology was some of the most advanced in the galaxy, completely undetectable even to those attuned to Force. Yet Taral remained unfazed by their appearance, one of the advantages of being a wound in the Force was a heightened sense of the galaxy. Every predator must be able to find food and the wound was a ravenous beast which always sought to fill its belly. The only way anyone could sneak up on Taral is if they stood inside a ysalamir's Force-negating field. Taral would be able to sense the emptiness of the field, but nothing within it.

The guards were standing on the steps with their weapons drawn, pointing the barrels at Taral's stubble-covered head. Most likely they were aiming at him long before they revealed themselves. A Mandalorian to Taral's right began to speak.

"The temple is off limits." The Mandalorian said in an even tone, though there was clearly an implied threat behind his words.

Taral regarded the Mandalorian for a moment. His armor was a dark steel color, like the others who guarding the tomb, but his helmet was unique amongst them. The t-visor was highlighted with blood red trim, unlike the silver trim used by the others. He was likely the leader of this particular group. Taral realized the man had likely been the son of an honored war hero, red on Mandalorian armor usually signified respect for one's father. As he looked at the Mandalorian's armor, Taral was gathering the Force around him before he unleashed a devastating Force wave against the Mandalorians.

A dozen armored figures were thrown to either side of the steps. Had they been out of their armor, they would have likely perished from the concussive force. It took only a fraction of a second after hitting the ground for each Mandalorian to climb to their feet and bring their blasters to bear on the intruder, but as they aimed it became apparent that Taral was gone. When Taral unleashed the Force wave he started with his hands together and then spread them apart. This allowed the wave to expand from a concentrated wave which would have only hit the center of the Mandalorians, to a dissipated wave that was able to strike them all. As his hands extended to his sides, Taral's continued to thrust his hands back until he was able to use the energy from the wave to launch himself to the top of the steps. He was already nearing the door when the guards had recovered.

The captain watched the scene with dread, the perimeter had been breached and what was worse was that it had been breached under his command. Turning to his men, the captain shouted out his orders.

"You four stay here and guard these steps, the rest of you come with me."

The Mandalorians acknowledged the commands and began to carry them out. Seven men followed the captain up the stairs at a near sprint, when they reached the top all they found was an open doorway and no sign of Taral.

"Secure the entrance, I must contact Mandalore." The captain said as he reached up toward the radio controls within his black and red helmet.

* * *

Javen Panlie sat lotus-style on the floor at the foot of his bed. His temporary dwelling was little more than a glorified trailer home. Javen had never been one for material comforts and the 'Royal Shed' as it was called, had more than enough to satisfy him and his mates. But none of that was on his mind at the moment. Although he tried to center himself through his ritual meditation, he continued to stumble as his mind drifted back to the Battle Circle.

A dozen colonies had been attacked in the ten years since he spared Tlon Fett's life. Millions of lives were changed forever, many of which simply ended after an encounter with Fett's faction. As much as Runi and Alana had tried to convince him otherwise, Javen found himself agreeing with what Taral had said to him… everything was his fault.

Javen remembered the duel with Tlon Fett as if it had happened yesterday. The monster was defeated, his body pinned to the ground with a knife that went straight through his neck and into the dusty soil. Then Javen ripped out the knife and was rewarded with the warm spray of blood that was gushing from Fett's throat. He had defeated his parents' murderer and now Javen was the undisputed leader of the Mandalorian people.

But as Javen stood over Fett's body, watching him writhe on the ground in a growing puddle of blood, his contempt left him and he felt only pity. He reached down to Fett's throat and sent waves of healing energy through his bruised and bloody hands and into Fett's wounds. The Force began to knit together the laceration until it was able to restore circulatory integrity to Fett's jugular veins and arteries.

As the wound was healed Tlon Fett rose to his feet, but nearly stumbled as the lack of blood flow contributed to a near debilitating vertigo. His face was a mixture of confusion and hate, he limped away from Javen and left through an opening in the crowd. Tlon Fett left planet Mandalore and went into hiding for nine months. Once his forces were ready, Tlon Fett returned Javen's kindness by attacking border colonies in both Mandalorian and Federation space.

Thousands of butchered innocents were compelling evidence to suggest that Javen had made a mistake. He was young at the time, barely halfway through his teen years; he never took any responsibility for their deaths. Javen had always blamed Fett for what had occurred, but Taral's words brought a lingering doubt to the forefront of Javen's mind. Fett was just an animal, he was guilty for sure, but more of the blame lay with Javen. He had given Fett a second chance at life and now his people had suffered for his misjudgment.

Javen was so deep in thought that he had not noticed the lithe creature crawling across the carpet toward his sitting form. Javen only realized what was going on when he felt two warm hands sliding down his shoulders and across his chest. Runi embraced Javen, pushing her soft breasts into his back and burying her chin into the crease of Javen's neck. Her long, red hair tickled his shoulder and he reached back and placed his hand on Runi's shoulder. A contented smile spread crossed her face as Javen began to gently rub her shoulder.

"Gar echoy'la, ner cyar'ika. Me'vaar ti gar?" Runi said in Mando'a, her face a mask of concern. **(You seem lost, my darling. What is it?)**

Javen remained silent for a moment, long enough for Runi to realize that Javen was struggling with his thoughts. Runi was about to repeat herself when Javen finally responded.

"Wer'cuy…" **(It doesn't matter…)**

Runi frowned; she then slid her body around Javen, her arms still locked around his neck. As she settled her naked form in Panlie's lap, Runi gently grasped his cheeks and forced him to look her in the eyes. The stoicism that had engulfed his features faltered for the briefest moment before disappearing behind a wall of stone. Seeing Javen bury his feelings only made Runi's frown deepen.

"Javen you promised me, years ago, that you wouldn't do this. You said you wouldn't hide yourself from me." Runi said, her voice a near whisper.

Javen could just barely sense the saddened tones within her voice. This served only to worsen his mood and he tried desperately to look away, only to be forced once more to look into Runi's cerulean blue eyes.

"What is it Javen? Please… let me in."

Runi's eyes were begging him to open up to her. Javen's feeble resistance broke down and he was finally ready to talk.

"It's the Sith we have in camp. His words have opened several, well healed wounds. I'm just not sure what to think." Javen spoke in a somber whisper.

"Is this about Tlon?"

Javen did not speak, he simply nodded his head. Runi gave a small grumble of frustration; she and Alana had spent most of the night trying to convince Javen that Tlon Fett's actions were his own. But Javen would not listen to them; he tuned out their words and left their temporary home for the night. He tried to find answers by meditating under the stars, but clearly he had not found any answers. Runi and Alana had remained behind, finding comfort in each other's arms as they waited for Javen to return. But he had not returned until the sun began to rise over the Dxun jungle. Not only had he not found peace, but he appeared to be in even worse shape than yesterday. The guilt that he had buried for so many years was bubbling to the surface. He still had enough control to hide it from the others, but he would never be able to hide it from his mates.

"I have replayed the duel with Fett in my mind again and again and again…" Javen paused before taking an uncharacteristically nervous gulp. "I can find no explanation that justifies saving his life. To think that I would be so blind that I would need a Sith to open my eyes."

"Javen, my love. There is nothing you can do to change the past. You need to accept what happened and try to fix it, but we both know you have more important things to worry about right now."

Javen hesitantly nodded his head in agreement. He opened his mouth to reply, but he was quickly cut off as a frantic voice emanated from the emergency communicator attached to the wall.

"Mandalore, there has been a perimeter breach! The temple has been breached!"

Both Javen and Runi leapt up from the floor and scrambled to gather their things. Javen only needed his tunic and boots. Runi on the other hand was completely naked, but with a practiced ease she managed to dress herself in under ten seconds. Each of them grabbed their weapons and rushed out the door of the "Royal Shed". Turning to the right they headed east towards the tomb's entrance, passing the shuttles that had just transported everything from the temporary camp in the south where Javen had first met his Sith prisoner.

Javen made a mad dash up the temple's obsidian staircase, taking three steps at a time. Javen and Runi reached the temple mount in fraction of the time it would normally have taken. Reaching the top Javen saw eight Mandalorians guarding the temple's entrance. He turned to the captain with the red-trim helmet, recognizing him as Janga Ordo a recent graduate of the Concord Dawn military academy.

"Status report." Javen said as he turned his attention to the temple entrance.

"It was that Sith from beta-camp, sir. When he approached the temple, we de-cloaked and told him he wasn't authorized. Not two seconds later he tossed us aside like leaves and made his way into the temple."

"How long has he been in there?" Runi asked, her tone was one of complete seriousness.

"About two minutes, ma'am. I think he used the Force to leap to the top of the mount. We were about to pursue him into the temple when you arrived."

Javen furrowed his brow in frustration, his thoughts had been so clouded with doubt that he had not even bothered to watch the prisoner transfer. Now there was a Sith inside the Tomb of Freedon Nadd and Javen had to do his sacred duty and remove the intruder. Lightsaber in hand Javen ran into the temple, followed closely by Runi and the Mando guards.

Javen reached out with the Force and tried desperately to locate the intruder, but he felt nothing. The energy emanating from the temple was enough to drown out the Taral's miniscule aura. It was then that Javen sensed a concentration of energy near the central chamber. Javen then realized where Taral would be.

"We must hurry; he's trying to find the artifacts!" Javen yelled as he reached out with the Force to strengthen his legs and grant him greater speed.

* * *

Taral made his way into a large chamber near the back of the tomb. This room most likely served as the final resting place for Freedon Nadd's body. Though the Sith architecture and any evidence of the Dark Lord's sarcophagus had long since been removed, the temple still appeared to be a tomb. Nearly a dozen sarcophagi lined the back wall; several of them were strong in the light side of the Force. Taral ignored them and made his way toward a small storeroom in the back wall. Long dead Jedi were of no use to Taral, but the Sith and Jedi relics he would find in the storeroom would prove to be an extraordinary windfall.

"So this is what you've been hiding." Taral whispered to himself as he looked around the room.

In a different setting, the room might be mistaken for a museum exhibit. Each item was placed on a shelf or housed within a transparisteel display. Each item rested near a small name tag which designated the various artifacts. Taral thought it was odd to name the artifacts, but realized that seeing the names meant the Holder of the Heart of the Guardian had failed to protect them. It did not matter if the artifacts were named or not, they were completely at his mercy.

Many were useless to Taral, but as he passed the holocrons several of them jumped out at him. The first was a small sand-colored cube; a nearby tag marked it as the Holocron of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was unlikely the Jedi would have parted with such a prize; this holocron was likely created after the Jedi Purge. It was unusual that this holocron was within the tomb at all, given the fact that Obi-Wan Kenobi's home on Tatooine was converted into a data cache under Javen Panlie's protection.

On the Sith-side of the display case there were four small red pyramids and an unusual red cube. Looking at the cube's tag, Taral broke into an unbelieving grin which stretched from ear to ear. This insignificant cube once belonged to Tulak Hord, the single greatest lightsaber duelist in Sith history. Sith legend claimed that Tulak Hord imbued his holocron with the secrets of his technique.

Taral reached out with the Force and began to manipulate the locking mechanism. It took mere seconds for the display case to be breached. Taral lifted the lid to the case and heard a sharp hiss as the air pressure within equalized with the rest of the room. Taral carefully reached in and lifted out the small crystalline cube and gingerly placed it on the cold stone floor.

Taral then sat lotus-style with the holocron in front of him. Taral then opened himself to the Force and began bathing the small cube with dark side energies. After several seconds the holocron responded and a small ghostly figure emerged from the top.

"I am Tulak Hord, Dark Lord of the Sith and King of all Korriban." The small hologram said in a deep cultured voice.

Taral smiled as he looked upon his prize, but his curiosity began to grow as he stared at the holocron's gatekeeper. The man in the holocron was covered in lean muscle and his chin was partially obscured by some kind of chin strap or partial mask. There were small flaps of skin extending from its cheek bones which laid over each side of the chin strap. But the most striking feature of the gatekeeper was its horns; at least half a dozen jagged spikes covered the top of its bald head like an evil crown.

"What species were you Lord Hord?" Taral asked as his curiosity peaked.

"I am a hybrid. My mother was a pureblood sith from Korriban. My father was a zabrak dark Jedi who was trained on Coruscant. My father trained me in the lightsaber arts while my mother focused on training me in the Force. I took a violet lightsaber to symbolize the union of Jedi and Sith teachings."

"I don't understand, why violet?"

"My mother carried a red lightsaber while my father kept the blue lightsaber he had before he joined the Sith."

Taral nodded his head in understanding. New questions began to appear in his mind, questions of power and technique, about the Sith species, and about the unusual shape of the holocron. But before he was able to voice his curiosity, Taral sensed something approaching the room he was in. It was a disgustingly bright beacon of light side Force energy. Taral knew who was approaching and decided to cut his lessons short.

"Forgive me Lord Hord, but the Jedi are here and I must leave."

"I understand. My knowledge will be available when you return, young one." The gatekeeper said before fading away.

Taral leapt to his feet and quickly returned the holocron to the transparisteel case and reengaged the locking mechanism. Taral stood there for a moment, staring into the case as the door to the room was opened and Javen Panlie and his Mandalorians entered with their weapons drawn. But for all their speed the Mandalorians had only seen a man standing in a room. It seemed as if nothing had been disturbed, that they had arrived in time to prevent Taral from using the artifacts.

"You don't belong in here." Javen said in a threatening tone as he activated his bronze lightsaber.

Taral, for his part, seemed unfazed by Panlie's declaration. Taral had learned long ago that the opinions of others were often irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. However, Taral was not so foolish as to simply ignore the feelings of others, especially when his life could hang in the balance.

Taral tilted his head up to the ceiling as if he were deep in thought. After a tense moment, Taral lowered his head to a more natural position before turning toward the Mandalorians and walking past them toward the entrance of the temple. The guards kept their blaster-rifles trained on the intruder but none of them pulled the trigger. They watched Taral leave and waited for orders from Mandalore, but he remained silent. Perhaps he was confused by the Sith's demeanor, a likely scenario considering the rant the Sith had hurled at him the previous day.

Javen looked around the room and let out a sigh of relief before deactivating his lightsaber. They had prevented Taral from using the artifacts within the temple. And somehow they had managed to evict him from the premises without incident. Perhaps the Sith was just confused and angry, perhaps he could be redeemed in time.

Javen gave the idea some thought and decided it would be for the best if he could save Taral from himself. The Mandalorians would certainly benefit from having such a powerful new ally. But Taral would never openly accept redemption; if Javen were to be successful he would need to be subtle. Taral would have to think it was his idea to reject the dark side, otherwise it might never work.

"Alright, let's follow him out. Once we're outside, I want you and your men to return to your posts." Javen said as he made his way toward the entrance.

"By your will, Mandalore." The captain responded without hesitation.

* * *

As he descended from the crest of the tomb's staircase, Taral began to analyze the situation he found himself in. The tomb was filled with precious knowledge beyond his wildest dreams. The holocrons were without a doubt the most valuable by far. But acquiring them would be impossible while the Mandalorians were present. This situation was curious however, at first it might seem reasonable since Panlie, and by extension his Mandalorian forces, was sworn to guard the tomb and its secrets. But it is difficult to remain inconspicuous with such a large force. It was apparent that Panlie was no longer confident this treasure could remain secure within the tomb. Instead, his forces had come to relocate the artifacts to a more secure location.

If this was the case, there might be a chance for Taral to exploit the situation. No doubt the Mandalorians would move the artifacts to a ship for easy transport. If he could find that ship then it would be a relatively simple task to steal whatever treasures were aboard. If Taral was honest with himself he might have acknowledged the inherent risk of stealing something of value from these Mandalorians, but Taral never lacked for confidence.

Lost in his thought, Taral came to a stop when he wandered toward the camp's battle circle. It was similar to the first, but instead of old branches marking the boundaries, this circle was marked with white paint that had been sprayed onto the grass. The battle circle was empty at the moment; every soldier in camp was attending to their assigned duties.

Taral stared at the circle and allowed his mind to wander back to the Tomb of Freedon Nadd. The secrets held within could elevate Taral's understanding of the Force tenfold. Holocrons had been in short supply during his time with the Sith, the few that the Sith possessed were aggressively hoarded by their leader, Vathila. Only the most trusted disciples would even catch a glimpse of the holocrons she had hidden away.

During his time in Vathila's service, Taral was able to interact with one of the red pyramids. Unsure of how to activate the holocron, Taral sat down and crossed his legs before he began to meditate with the pyramid at his feet. At first, nothing happened. As his frustration grew Taral's aura began to project dark side energies. As the dark side touched the crystalline pyramid it began to glow a blood-red light. And from the tip of the pyramid emerged a ghostly figure. His body was protected by a chitinous armor, as if he were covered in large beetles. His face was partially obscured by a cage-like helmet he wore.

The holocron of Darth Bane gave Taral a taste of greater things. Up until that point Taral had been completely reliant upon the Sith masters and their tutelage. The masters were the only source of information, though there were rumors of ancient texts and Sith legends. Taral was never able to confirm if the rumors were true. The masters never shared their secrets with the students beyond the basic instruction of the Sith arts.

It was the avatar of Darth Bane who opened Taral's eyes to the power of the dark side. He had only been scratching the surface at the Sith academy. Much like Darth Bane during his time with the Brotherhood of Darkness, Taral had become chained to weakness by the very people who were supposed to set him free. The academy was simply a starting point, it was up to the individual to rise beyond that and become something more. Bane learned this truth 1,500 years ago, and Taral learned this truth from Lord Bane not five years prior.

"You're that Sith everybody's talking about."

Taral was distracted from his thoughts as he was approached by a young woman with flowing blond hair. Her lean, athletic frame was fit snuggly in the dark gray robes she wore. Her eyes were a bright sapphire, just like her brother. Her name was Shadee Kelborne, younger sister to the current Mandalore, Javen Panlie. In actuality her true name was Shadee Panlie-Kelborne-Ordo, an unwieldy collection of words to be sure, which is why she only used her given name and her husband's surname

"Scuttlebutt says you breached the Tomb. I'm surprised Javen let you live."

"Panlie is as much a fool as he was the day he became Mandalore." Taral said with a sneer.

"I heard about what happened to your family, I'm sorry."

"Save your pity, Shadee. I do not accept it."

"How do you know my name?"

"We all know your face, Shadee. We have to. How else can we identify our targets?"

"Who's targeting me?"

"Currently? No one. But the Sith know every person who's close to your brother. When the time comes, they'll hunt you down. And when you die, Panlie will be weakened… at least, that's the plan."

"That's strange. Are you sure it would work?"

"Erode the enemy's resolve by killing those who are close to him. It's an old technique, but quite effective. Whether or not it works on your brother remains to be seen."

Taral stared at the Battle Circle with a deep frown on his face. He was tired of being trapped on this moon and dealing with the "locals" was not helping.

"This conversation is boring. Think you can dance and talk at the same time?" Taral asked as he entered the Battle Circle and drew his red lightsaber.

Shadee was surprised at the change in Taral's demeanor. Her surprise even reached her face when she heard the snap-hiss of Taral's blade. But Shadee recovered quickly and buried her emotions beneath an eager smile. With a flick of her arms, her dark gray cloak fell to the grass and she entered the circle, blue lightsaber humming softly in her hand.

Taral was on her before she had time to get into position. Shadee deflected the broad swing before swatting at her Sith attacker. Taral managed to block her swing and push her back. Both fighters began to circle one another, searching for weaknesses.

"Let's talk about your brother for a moment." Taral said, his eyes never leaving hers.

"What about him?" Shadee asked, her tone cautious as she was afraid to let her guard down.

"Push comes to shove he's just gonna turtle up and hope his problems go away. He ain't a leader."

"Javen didn't ignore Tlon Fett. He spent years hunting down the rebels."

"Bullshit! Your brother ignored Fett as he raided the Outer Rim! He's only fought back when it was convenient and easy!"

Taral launched himself with renewed anger. His lightsaber becoming a blur of red light as it sliced through the air. Shadee moved to intercept each swing and succeeded at keeping Taral at bay. The small exchange allowed Taral to calm down long enough to gather his thoughts and put them into words.

"If Panlie hadn't pussied out, Fett would already be dead! Instead, he just sits on his ass and waits for Fett to slip up! You could find him and kill him… easily. But your clan is too weak to put forth the effort."

"Shut up! Clan Ordo is strong! Tlon Fett operates in uncharted space and he's too cagey to simply slip up."

"The more you speak, the more you prove my point!"

Now it was Shadee who launched into an attack. The insults slung at her clan had stung her Mandalorian pride. But as her blade reached out it met resistance from Taral's blade which was able to repel each attack. Her anger put greater force into each blow, but not nearly enough to gain the upper hand.

"We did everything we could! We saved everyone we could!"

"Bullshit! I was there; I saw what happened to my home. And now my only purpose it to right the wrongs of the past and bring justice to your wayward clan."

"Tlon Fett leads rebels; they are no clan of ours!"

"You think it matters? Once I'm done with Fett I'll come for you and your 'real' clans. You Mandalorians are trash. I was weak then, but now I'm strong. Strong enough to kill you, to kill all of you!"

"So that's it? You're gonna kill us because you couldn't stop Fett? There was nothing you could have done. Stop blaming yourself."

"Who says I'm blaming myself?"

"I do!"

"Fuck you, Shadee! You know nothing of my mind. You'll never understand. I'm better than you! I'm better than your brother!"

"Tlon Fett will see justice for his crimes. You must have faith in that."

"I only have faith in myself! I'm gonna do whatever the fuck it takes to kill that bastard! And no one will get in my way!"

Taral lifted Shadee off the ground before slamming her into the dirt with the Force, her lightsaber tossed from her grasp. The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her gasping for air. With his foe immobilized, Taral leapt into the air while calling Shadee's blade to his hand. Taral landed in a crouch over Shadee's abdomen. Red and blue beams crossed and held steady on either side of Shadee's neck.

Shadee lay motionless on the ground, with two lightsabers near her throat she was hesitant to even breathe. Taral stared down at her, his face a mask of confusion. But soon the confusion disappeared and his face was shown in fury unrivaled. His eyes turned yellow and he screamed his rage. Shadee sensed Taral's intentions and reached out with the Force, grabbing the stony pommel of the Dark Jedi's lightsaber she kept at her waist. The red blade sprung forth and managed to prevent Taral's blades from touching her neck.

Seeing her block his blades caused Taral to fall even further into his anger. He threw the lightsabers to the ground and stood up, leaving Shadee lying on the ground. Taral lifted a nearby shed with the Force. The shed had an open side which dumped out the prior inhabitants as it tumbled through the air.

Taral clenched his fists together and crushed the shed before sheering it in half and hurtling the pieces toward the nearby structures of the camp. Most of the Mandalorians dodged the projectiles; Taral's screams had drawn the attention of everyone within earshot, each soldier had a rifle trained on the enraged Sith. A handful of soldiers were injured, but their wounds appeared superficial. The former inhabitants of the shed felt a great deal of relief knowing just how lucky they were. Had they not fallen out of the shed, they would have surely been crushed.

Taral continued to growl and shake as the pieces of shed came to a standstill. Finding some semblance of calm, having released his excess rage, Taral managed to gain control of his emotions once more. As his eyes returned to their natural olive-green, he crossed his legs and sat down in the dead grass that surrounded him. The lifeless vegetation was a further reminder that he needed to control himself.

Shadee made to approach the Sith, but a strong hand held her back. Rav Kelborne-Ordo, her husband, held her back for fear that Taral would try to kill her again. Shadee gingerly pushed his hand away and slowly walked toward Taral. He remained somber and made no indication that he had noticed her. She was about to speak when Taral addressed her.

"I had a sister once, she had your eyes."

Taral took a deep breath and let it out as a long sigh. But Shadee could sense the slightest quiver in his sigh, as if he were holding back a river of tears, though she could not see his eyes because he kept his back turned to her.

"I'm curious, that red lightsaber, what happened to its previous owner?"

"He was eaten by a greater krayt dragon on Tatooine."

"Hmm. I always told Lorik he'd never be shit." Taral said before letting out a chuckle. "Guess he proved _me_ wrong. Now leave me, Jedi. I have nothing more to say to you."

Shadee stared at Taral for a moment longer, before turning around and returning to her husband. Rav gestured with his head toward the other side of the camp, he was eager to get some distance from the man who nearly killed his wife. Shadee smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as they both walked away from the brooding Sith.

* * *

It had been several hours since his duel with Shadee. Taral had gone to the camp's armory to relax. It was at least twice the size of the armory at the original camp. The armory was filled with boxes and shelves containing all manner of parts and tools. One section caught his eye in particular; it was a locked cabinet near the back. After exploding the lock with the Force, Taral discovered numerous lightsaber parts hidden within.

Taral had spent the last few hours constructing a new lightsaber he named 'Jessie'. She was nearly identical to Bianca, Taral's original lightsaber. What really set Jessie apart was the orange focusing crystal used in her construction. It was hardly a surprise that there were no red focusing crystals in the armory. Panlie fancied himself a Jedi and would never use a red lightsaber without good reason. That made it all the more unusual that there was a red crystal at the first armory he had visited, but Taral did not give it much thought since he had already used that crystal when he built a replacement blade for Numa. For Taral, the choice of orange came down to preference. Orange was his favorite color, though he would never admit to such a childish predisposition.

Taral set Jessie on the floor and assumed a meditative sitting position. Reaching out with the Force, Taral levitated his new lightsaber and began to disassemble it. The pieces spread out around the central focusing crystal. A dull orange light was given off by the crystalline structure. Taral refocused his efforts and began to realign the pieces until they began to form the rough outline of a lightsaber. Miniscule adjustments were made to each piece, making the alignment absolutely perfect. Just a few more millimeters and-

Taral's new lightsaber fell to the floor, pieces bounced and rolled away from the impact site before they came to a standstill. His focus was lost when someone strong in the Force had walked up to him. His angry eyes glared up at the individual who had interrupted his concentration. She was tall and beautiful, with long black hair and olive skin. Her frame was covered with the dark gray robes of a Mandalorian Jedi, but this woman was no Mandalorian.

Alana Skywalker was born to the Jedi and had spent the majority of her life within the Order, only recently had she defected to the Mandalorians out of love for their leader, Javen Panlie. The red sash hanging from her hip marked her as one of Mandalore's mates. Taral narrowed his eyes in irritation upon seeing the red cloth.

"You must be Panlie's whore." Taral spat in a venomous tone. "Go away."

Alana stared at the Sith for a moment her emerald eyes focused on the lightsaber components lying on the floor. Disassembling a lightsaber through the Force was not often seen. It was rare for anyone other than a master to perform the feat, and most masters refused to perform an act of 'vanity'. Clearly this Sith shared their abilities, but not their concerns.

"I've been called far worse, by people much more important than you. You'll have to try harder." Alana said with a smirk.

"I'll keep that in mind. If you're gonna stay, you should have a seat. I don't feel like straining my neck."

Alana nodded her head and sat across from Taral with her legs folded beneath her bottom. The tip of her lightsaber pommel touched the ground, but remained securely attached to her belt. Alana watched the Sith for a moment as he gathered the pieces to his lightsaber.

"Javen said you killed two Jedi already."

"Is that what you call them? Jedi? I just killed a couple assholes with lightsabers." Taral paused to think about what he had just said. He then let out a small chuckle. "So I guess 'Jedi' is an accurate label, isn't it?"

Taral focused his energy toward the pile of lightsaber components, gathering the pieces into a swirling vortex of metal and polymer. The pieces quickly reattached and formed a lightsaber pommel. Taral then focused his energy into the separation lines where the pieces of the puzzle were loosely connected. The molecules within the separation lines began to vibrate until the friction caused the pieces to fuse together. This prevented anyone from tampering with the inner components, since there were no screws or even pieces.

"Neat trick."

"It is isn't it? It's the little things that make you feel like a god." Taral said with an arrogant grin. "I used to levitate marbles, mimicking solar systems. It was fun, but not particularly useful."

"That would take a lot of concentration and skill. How old were you?"

"I was sixteen at the time; about six years ago… oh wait. I keep forgetting that I was trapped in my battle-sleep for a year. So it was seven years ago. I started levitating those marbles a few weeks after I began my training."

"So you joined the Sith seven years ago, were you trained by the Jedi before that?"

"Nope. The Sith were the only ones to recognize my talents."

"Wait a minute. You've only received seven years of training?"

"Six years, but… yes, that's all."

"That's incredible!"

"You're right, I _am_ incredible."

"Well… let's not get carried away."

Taral and Alana shared a small laugh before a deafeningly awkward silence descended upon them. Taral remained stoic and aloof. Alana gave no outward hint that she was uncomfortable, but her mind was increasingly agitated. She was not sure what to make of the Sith, he almost seemed friendly, but she knew it was a façade. Taral would gladly kill anyone in the camp, likely the only thing that kept him in check was his own desire to live. Even Javen would have difficulty fighting an entire camp of angry Mandalorians. Alana decided to break the silence by asking a question that had formulated when she was watching Taral meditate.

"Can you teach me to build lightsabers like yours?"

"There's nothing unique about my blade."

"But there are no screws or pieces. You've fused it into a single piece of metal."

"Oh, that. Sure I can teach you. But why do you want to learn?" Taral asked, genuinely curious.

No one had ever come to Taral seeking knowledge. Even Numa had not asked for his tutelage, he merely gave it. He was curious what would make Alana seek out such knowledge from him, especially such mundane knowledge.

Alana became quiet; her eyes fell to the floor as she remembered the calloused hands that held her down as other hands ripped at her clothes. Her lightsaber was resting on the floor nearby, useless. The memory was powerful, and small wisps of it escaped her mental blocks. Taral sensed her memories and nodded his head in understanding.

"They removed the focusing crystal and disabled your lightsaber."

Alana's emerald eyes shot up to meet Taral's olive orbs. Alana silently nodded her head; she was uncomfortable having her experience known to another. But at least Taral seemed sympathetic, and if he taught her his technique, she would never need to fear the same circumstance.

"Go get a few pieces of metal from the scrap bins over there. Stuff you'd use to build a new saber, we'll practice with that." Taral said with a tilt of his head to the armory's supply of raw materials.

Alana stood up and gave a small bow before walking over to the various resource cabinets to search for some appropriate materials, leaving Taral with his thoughts. Taral began to analyze the images he saw. Mandalorian security had been lax and Tlon Fett's men had infiltrated Javen Panlie's personal flagship, _Mandalore's Honor._ They tried to gang-rape this poor woman, but before they could succeed, Alana was saved by the fire-haired woman she now bedded, Runi'BeTracyn.

A burning hatred of rapists was one of the few things Taral carried from his previous life. His father taught him that it was one of the greatest sins, and such a crime could only be cleansed by fire. Taral knew a grizzly fate was likely met by Fett's men, Taral knew enough about Mandalorian culture to know that rape was strictly verboten and punishable by death. Even a coward like Panlie would not stand in the way of such a clear violation of Mandalorian law.

Taral turned his thoughts to Runi. He had not met her yet, but he had seen her inside the Tomb of Freedon Nadd. She was beautiful, but also powerful; a strong-willed woman who lived as a Mandalorian should, for honor and family. She was also quite strong in the Force, it was subtle and unfocused, but it was there nonetheless.

_**She bares the blood of a dark lord.**_

_There are many dark lords, Queen. Which one do you speak of?_

_**Darth Natal, Lord Malak's younger brother.**_

Taral's silent conversation with his own thoughts was interrupted as he noticed Alana Skywalker returning with a small box of metal scrap.

"Good. Now take out a piece and set it on the ground."

Alana did as she was told, before taking her seat across from Taral. The metal shard rested between them, its dull shine a stark contrast to the dark colors of the armory's rubber floor mats.

"I want you to focus on the metal, excite the molecules, and increase its temperature until it burns white-hot. After that, we'll focus on specific molecules along the metal's edge."

[Two Hours Later]

Alana watched with nervous anticipation as Taral inspected her latest weld. A jagged line down the center glowed orange and faded to a dark gray as it quickly cooled before the clinical gaze of Taral's eyes. He had scrutinized and criticized every attempt thus far and this was the only one Alana was confident enough to present for approval. Once the metal was a single color, Taral attempted to pull it apart, but found he was unable to do so with just his hands. Taral nodded his head and released a small grunt acknowledging Alana's work.

"Keep practicing. I'd trust you to fix a doorway, but lightsabers are delicate. I'd say you should practice for at least a month before attempting a lightsaber, longer for the one you want to use."

"I understand." Alana said, as she stood to her full height. "Thank you, Taral."

"Please, call me 'Master'" Taral said with a grin.

"Don't get cocky. You only taught me how to weld, nothing special about that."

Taral smiled and watched Alana walk away. After she had left Taral pulled out Jessie, intent on perfecting the alignment of her crystals. But his intentions were forestalled as he felt a slight grumble emanate from his stomach. Standing up and placing Jessie on his left hip, adjacent to her sister blade Bianca, Taral made his way out of the armory and towards the camp's mess hall.

As he entered the cafeteria, Taral passed a group of Mandalorians sitting at one of the tables. They seemed oblivious to his presence. Instead they were content to pester one of their own. Taral did not care for what they had to say, but his ears could not help but pick up their words.

"Don't act like you wouldn't've been taken in. Those twins were hot!"

"They took everything you had! They couldn't've been _that_ hot."

Taral purchased a bottle of Chadian Rum and turned to the source of the conversation. Their words seemed so familiar to the young Sith. As Taral approached the table the Mandalorians became quiet and tense, though Taral remained aloof towards their discomfort.

"Those twins wouldn't happen to have been kiffar by chance?"

"Yeah, they were. Took everything I owned while I was passed out. Why? Did they do the same to you?" He said with a knowing smile.

"They tried, none too successfully."

The unexpected common ground did much to alleviate the tension. So much so that none of the soldiers objected when Taral took a seat at the table and opened his bottle of Chadian Rum. Taking a hearty swig of the spirit, Taral began to tell the soldiers about his experiences

"It happened on Nar Shadaa. I was passing the time at the local cantina. Drinking the hardest liquor they had and spending my savings away at the sabaac table."

* * *

Two women approached the young Sith. He was sitting at the bar with his back turned, but he was aware of their presence through the Force.

"You look lonely stranger. Would you care for some company?"

Taral stared down into the shot glass in his hand, the amber whiskey beckoning him to drink. Lifting the glass vessel to his lips, Taral obeyed the silent commands and swallowed the caustic liquid, allowing it to burn down into his stomach. Placing the glass upside on the bar, Taral spun on his stool to take a look at the women who had approached him. They were beautiful with their mocha skin and dark dreadlocks. A single, horizontal yellow bar crossed over their noses, marking them as kiffar. Reflecting on his situation Taral realized he was in the mood for some company, as he was every night.

"Sure, my hotel room is nearby. Let's go."

"Ooh, looks like we've eager one tonight, sister."

"I think you're right, I hope he's just as eager when we get to the room."

With a twin on either side, Taral rested his hands on their hips and led them out of the cantina. The walk to the hotel was short, but the twins wasted no time in kissing his neck caressing his body as they made their way through the streets to his hotel room.

* * *

Numa was making her way toward to camp latrine when she noticed the small crowd around Taral, each spectator in rapt attention. Numa's boney ear cones picked up bits and pieces of Taral's story as she walked by. But when he began describing the ridiculous mass of his genitals she began to shake her head in irritation. The man simply could not speak without coloring the truth and this was just another example. No one could be _that _big.

* * *

"I fell asleep with a sister in either arm and nothing but the ceiling fan and their breathing to keep me company. It was around two in the morning when they finally woke up. They were careful not to wake me, but the Force kept me aware of everything."

Taral lifted the bottle of Chadian Rum to his lips only to discover that it was now empty. Letting out a small grunt he decided to bring the story to an end the only way he knew how.

"They were walkin' toward the door, hands filled with my credit chits. Not two feet from the exit they stopped moving. Every muscle… frozen in place. With the two of them stuck in stasis I got out of bed, got dressed. Then I opened a bottle of wroshyr-sap gin and took a swig of what most people would think is paint thinner. I lit a cigarette and gathered my things."

Taral takes out a cigarette as he recounts this part of the tale. Lighting it with the Force and taking a puff before continuing.

"Once I was ready to leave, I took back my credits. Those tramps could see and sense everything that was taking place, but every muscle was frozen including the lids that protected those thirsty eyes of theirs. With my credits securely in my pocket, I took another swig of gin before dumping the bottle over their heads. The spirit trickled down their necks, soaking their shirts before pooling on the floor."

Taral took another puff of his cigarette, feeling the cool crisp menthol flavor fill his lungs.

"I turned away and opened the door. And as I left I flicked the cigarette onto the floor and set those skanks on fire. The door closed behind me and I made my way to the elevator. I could sense their pain through the Force, it was excruciating. But I never heard a peep out of them. In the end, they were nothing more than burning statues."

Satisfied with his retelling of the experience, Taral stood and left his audience in silence. With the story told there was no longer any reason to be around them. So Taral made his way to the edge of camp, a place to collect his thoughts.

But as he walked to the east Taral noticed an unusual rust-colored protocol droid standing near the camp's armory. It was at least seven feet tall, with angry orange lights denoting its "eyes". The droid looked like a mechanical demon, clearly built for intimidation. With nothing better to do, Taral approached the droid. It turned its "head" and stared at the Sith, but otherwise made no attempt to acknowledge its visitor.

"What's your name, tin can?"

"**Statement**: My designation is HK-47. I would advise against insulting me in the future. I would gladly end your pathetic existence."

"Is that a fact?"

"**Statement**: Of course it is, you worthless meatbag."

"Hmph. Well know this… if you're an appliance don't ever cross me. I proved it to the food synthesizer, I proved it to the holo-map, and I'll prove it to you! So don't fuck with me HK!" Taral yelled, his eyes full of fury.

"**Statement**: I will enjoy gutting you, meatbag. Make your move so that I may justify ending your disgusting, squishy existence."

Taral narrowed his eyes and gathered the Force around him. The air began to spin, bringing a static energy to his arms.

"I'm gonna send you to the fuckin' scrap pile!"

Javen Panlie was conversing with the Mandalorian scout leader when he heard the ruckus coming from his personal assassin droid and the Sith prisoner. Cutting the status report short, Panlie turned around and marched toward the arguing "couple".

"HK, stop harassing the Sith!"

"**Objection**: This meatbag was provoking me. **Statement**: I will not tolerate threats to this unit, nor threats to those I am sworn to."

"HK. I'm serious."

"**Resignation**: As you wish, Master. **Threat**: This isn't over, meatbag. If I designate you a threat again, I _will_ kill you!"

"Lookin' forward to it, tin can."

Taral was absolutely livid as he watched HK-47 walk away with his master. Taral hated the machines when they were polite, the fact that one would dare insult him was infuriating beyond comprehension.

"Fuckin' stupid-ass droid."

Panlie and his droid walked some distance away, toward a small group of Mandalorians and what appeared to be two foreign civilians. Taral noticed that Panlie was conversing with two people who were clearly not Mandalorian, but what really caught his attention was the young woman. She was thin and beautiful, with long blond hair and bright violet eyes. Taral recognized her face, as anyone within the galaxy would. Her beauty was known far and wide.

Taral decided that he wanted to speak to her, that he _needed_ to speak to her. Her back was turned to him so she did not notice his approach, nor did she notice the increased tension of her Mandalorian hosts. As he came up behind her, Taral gave a small squeeze to the young woman's rump which elicited a squeal of surprise.

"What the hell?!" She screamed.

Penaria Oslam, the current President of the Galactic Federation, spun on her heels and slapped Taral as hard as she could across the face. The blow left a light pink hand print across Taral's cheek. Everyone in the small group was staring at Taral, each face bearing a form of confusion, shock, or outrage.

"Good to see you too, sugar-tits."

Penaria stared at Taral, her face which shone outrage a moment before was now riddled with confusion. As her mind slowly processed the individual she was looking at, a blaster rifle was raised and aimed at Taral. Rust colored hands held the blaster rifle steady, the barrel pointed directly at Taral's face.

"**Statement**: The Sith meatbag is threatening the meatbag president. **Query**: May I kill him, master?" HK said as he kept his Mandalorian D9 assault rifle trained on Taral.

Javen shifted his glare from Taral to HK. The droid was always thirsting for blood, but this time Javen was tempted to approve the droid's request. The Sith had no decorum or tact, walking right up to a stranger and-

"Taral?" Penaria said as recognition entered her mind.

Taral gave a small smile as he nodded his head in affirmation.

"Oh my god Taral, I thought you were dead."

Penaria rushed towards Taral and threw her arms around his neck and nearly choked him in her embrace. Taral was smiling from ear to ear in the embrace of his old friend. His amusement was only strengthened by the shocked and confused expressions of Penaria's companions. HK looked as he always did, but now his menacing visage carried an undercurrent of disappointment. He had been denied the opportunity to kill an organic, yet again.

Taral gave a silent chuckle when he felt the anger and jealousy coming from a nearby Mandalorian, no doubt the man had taken a liking to the President, Taral decided to goad the soldier by squeezing Penaria's backside again. The man's anger spiked when he saw both of Taral's hands squeezing the President's rump. Penaria felt Taral's hands and let out a giggly squeal, before giving Taral a playful shove.

"Stop it you perv! Where the hell have you been?"

"Here and there. We should catch up, let's go have a drink."

"I'd like that, but I have business to attend to. Rain-check?"

"Fine, but don't expect me to wait too long before I collect."

Penaria smiled before planting a soft kiss on Taral's cheek. She then returned her attention to Javen Panlie and King Renault of Onderon both of whom were intensely curious as to Penaria's past dealings with the rogue Sith.

The jealous Mandalorian was still focused on Taral, glaring daggers in his direction. The Mandalorian's feelings were only exacerbated when he witnessed the small kiss Taral had received. Taral, for his part, was unfazed. He readily stared back at the Mandalorian with a smug grin, daring him to make good on his silent threats. But the Mandalorian did not take the bait, instead he turned to walk with the President and her small entourage as the group made their way toward the mess hall.

* * *

**[One Hour Later]**

Taral poured a bottle of Sullustan gin into two small shot glasses; Penaria readily accepted her glass and lifted it toward Taral. Bringing their shot glasses together, the old friends toasted their reunion as they allowed the smooth liquor to flow into their stomachs, warming their bodies on the way down.

"How's the old man doin'?" Taral asked as he poured another pair of shots.

"Minas-Kjar? He's good, still fighting the good fight." Penaria said as she accepted her second shot of gin.

"Good." Taral said as he downed his shot. "I don't see the old man retirin' while the Senate's rotting from within."

"Too true. He was so proud when I was elected President; he hoped it would mark the beginning of a new age. Too bad it was just more of the same in the long run."

"Don't blame yourself; no one gets their way in a bureaucracy."

"Maybe." Penaria said as she stared into her shot glass and slowly swirled the clear liquor. "It feels like my enemies get their way at every turn."

"Doubtful, they may have an edge here or there, but as long as you stand in their way they will never truly reach their goals. You just have to keep fighting them at every turn."

Penaria smiled at that, Taral seemed to have more confidence in her than she did. She looked back at her drink before lifting the glass to her lips and drinking her gin. She set the glass down and stared across the table at her companion, her smile growing as she appraised him.

"So, I have to ask… what happened to your hair?"

Taral became quiet and lowered his eyes to the floor. There was a pregnant moment that passed before Taral answered her question.

"My master found me. I've been a slave since I disappeared."

"Oh, Taral I'm so sorry. It must have been terrible."

"It was, but now I'm free and out for revenge… no rest for the wicked, eh?"

"I suppose not." Penaria said with a smile. "You should meet up with Minas the next time you're on Coruscant. I'm sure he'll have a job for you, you've been away for quite some time."

"You want me to start killing people again? I dare say that that sentence is most unbecoming of someone who holds such an 'honorable' position as President of the Alliance." Taral said with a knowing smirk.

Penaria shrugged her shoulders and took a swig of gin.

"His enemies are my enemies. The best course of action is to eliminate them."

"That's what I always loved about you, Penaria. You're so sweet and innocent on the outside, but on the inside you're as cunning as a hutt."

"It comes with the territory."

"Yeah I guess. Did the old man ever tell you how we met?"

"No it never came up."

"A few months after I arrived on Coruscant I was contacted by a corrupt senator. He wanted the old man removed and he was willing to pay."

"How do you go from hunting Minas to working with him?"

"He was expecting me. That man's spy network is impressive. He struck first, I almost didn't make it. But then he offered me the chance to work for him instead. He had me over a barrel, but eventually I came to understand and respect him."

"And the corrupt senator? What happened to him?"

"Whadda'ya think?"

Peneria's grin only grew upon hearing that. The alcohol was beginning to slither through her mind and affect her thoughts. It began to reawaken old feelings that she had not felt since Taral disappeared. She knew Taral could sense her desire, but he gave no outward indication beyond keeping that ridiculous grin plastered to his face.

"So, what should we do now?" Penaria said with a sultry grin.

* * *

Penaria awoke several hours later, her body racked by the comfortable soreness of post-coital relaxation. Her body was still warm from the alcohol that remained within her veins. Her body clung snugly to her old lover as he continued to sleep soundly. Her hair was splayed across his chest as it rose and fell at a steady pace.

Penaria put arm around Taral's midsection and squeezed him closer to her body. The subtle action was enough to stir Taral's mind and awaken him. After taking a moment to acclimate to his surroundings, Taral reached out with the Force and called two cigarettes to his hand. After lighting them he stuck one in his mouth and offered the other to Penaria.

Relinquishing her hold on her lover's side, Penaria sat up rested into Taral's shoulder as he sat against the wall which acted as a headboard to the bed. She took a drag on the cigarette and smiled to herself as she realized that the only time she ever smoked was after having sex with Taral. It had been well over a year since she had smoked a cigarette and her lungs were mildly unaccustomed to the smoke. Penaria gave a few quiet coughs before her body calmed down and she was able to enjoy the tobacco she was inhaling.

"How's your butt feel?"

"Sore!" Penaria said with a groan.

"Oh you poor thing, want me to kiss it and make it better."

"Ha, tempting. But I know how you operate. I'd rather get some sleep; I wouldn't want to be sore _and_ tired tomorrow." Penaria said with a wink.

She took a deep drag on the cigarette and let the smoke wisp through the air above her head. She watched as the smoke trails twisted around each other before merging into a single cloud near the ceiling.

"I think you're a bad influence. I only smoke when I'm with you."

"So why don't you quit me?"

"I'm not sure I want to."

Penaria took a final drag before crushing the cigarette in the nearby ashtray and climbing out of bed. She was aware of Taral's eyes as they appraised her body as she began to dress herself. Once she was fully dressed and prepared to leave, Penaria turned to Taral as he remained beneath the sheets of the cot.

"Thanks again, Taral. It's been far too long since I had a fuck that good."

"I live to serve, princess."

"Ha, always a charmer. You should stop by Coruscant next time there's a Senate meeting. I'm sure I'll need your… 'assistance' again."

Taral just smiled and nodded his head lazily. Penaria turned around and left Taral to his thoughts. As his mind sifted through the memories of the night he remembered what he needed to do most, escape this camp. Finishing his cigarette, Taral hopped out of bed and got dressed before making his way to the camp's makeshift spaceport.

* * *

It was a Bas Neral-class light-freighter with the name _Kyr'am de Gihaal_ emblazoned upon its hull. Seeing the name caused Taral arc one of his eyebrows, it translated as 'Death by Fishmeal'. Gihaal was a dry fishmeal known for possessing an extraordinarily pungent odor.

Either this was a private vessel, or the Mandalorian navy had a sense of humor when it came to naming freighters. Taral guessed the former, the navy was nothing if not disciplined and a comical ship name would detract from their serious nature. It might have belonged to a private contractor or perhaps a non-combatant, Taral did not know nor did he care.

Activating the ship's boarding ramp, Taral entered the freighter and began to explore the ship's interior. It was quite spacious, more than enough room for Taral to stretch his legs. Sensing something important in the cargo hold he approached the hold's door. As the door opened, Taral was greeted with a view not unlike when he was in the Tomb of Freedon Nadd. The room was filled with Sith and Jedi artifacts retrieved from within the crypt, all were carefully stored away in boxes which were strapped or bolted to the floor and walls.

Taral only gave the artifacts a cursory glance, but immediately found himself drawn to a small crate in the corner. The box was emanating with power, beckoning Taral to open it. Using the Force, he opened the crate and looked inside. Nestled in a protective bed of foam were two-dozen colorful jewels. It was a collection of focusing crystals and amplifying gems of various shapes and colors. Each of the crystalline stones was no larger than a marble, small enough to fit into any lightsaber. One of the crystals was shaped like a tiny human heart carved from clear red crystal. Taral recognized it as Bane's Heart; the crystal which was used by Darth Zannah nearly two-thousand years ago.

He also recognized a nearby gem, deep crimson in color and radiating with dark side energy. It was an extremely rare quixoni crystal. Quixoni crystals came from a long dead planet whose parent star went supernova thousands of years ago.

Taral grabbed both of the crystals he recognized and left the freighter, making a beeline toward the camp's armory.

* * *

Taral sat at the workbench and checked that he had everything he needed to construct a new lightsaber. The quixoni crystal was already secured within the confines of the lightsaber known as Bianca. The Bane's Heart crystal rested on the edge of the workbench table, waiting to be inserted into the lightsaber Taral was planning to build.

Taral began attaching the components into the familiar shape of a lightsaber. After two hours of work, the lightsaber was finally ready to receive Bane's Heart.

_**I know what you are planning. What is the purpose?**_

_The purpose will be forthcoming, in time. You never tell me your schemes, so why should I tell you mine?_

_**Very well, play your games if you must. But know that your time is running out while you dawdle. **_

_I will deal with it, Queen. Have a little faith in me for once._

Taral set the focusing crystal inside the crystal chamber. He used the Force to make microscopic changes in the crystal's alignment before clamping the tiny stone heart within the focusing crystal activator. Satisfied with his work, Taral sealed the crystal chamber and screwed the casing shut. Lifting the lightsaber, careful so as not to activate it, Taral quickly wrapped it in a gray cloth which once constituted one of his shirts. He then grabbed a letter he had written prior to constructing the lightsaber. Making his way out of the armory, Taral began to search for Kal Onasi-Ordo, the young Mandalorian Taral had spoken with at the temporary camp. Kal would make sure the lightsaber found its proper owner.

* * *

Having delivered his package, Taral was prepared to leave Dxun. But something caught his eye and his curiosity got the better of him. On the edge of camp, removed from all other buildings, was a small shed much like the one given to Taral. The shed was surrounded by a guard on each side with two guards standing watch over the door. It was likely a makeshift prison, but Taral had no idea who the prisoner could be.

Taral masked his approach first by making himself blend into the background as an unimportant person who would easily be forgotten. Then he wrapped himself in the Force and began to bend the light around himself until he completely disappeared. As he approached the door he clouded the minds of the nearby guards, making them fade in and out of a half-asleep state. With their minds in disarray they were unable to hear the door to the shed open and close as Taral entered.

As the door closed behind him Taral's face registered shock before it was quickly crushed beneath a mask of hatred and anger. Taral recognized the man on the cot as Vegao Fett, one of Tlon Fett's sons. The man's father had butchered Taral's family ten years prior, and this meeting would likely end in a similar fashion.

"Vegao Fett." Taral said.

It was a statement, since there was no question in Taral's mind who he was looking at.

"I'm not telling you anything" Vegao said, defiantly as he continued to sit on his cot.

Vegao apparently felt safe behind the barrier curtain which took the place of the old-fashioned iron bars of a prisoner cell. He was about to learn just how fleeting safety can be.

"I'm looking for your father."

"You won't get anything out me you son of-"

Before Vegao could finish his sentence he was hurled against the wall and lifted half a foot off the ground. His arms stretched out to either side while his legs were held together with one foot in front of the other. With Vegao pinned to the wall, Taral reached out with the force and ripped the metal bed from the wall and let it fall to the ground, the metal frame clanging loudly on the duracrete floor. Normally he would need to be quiet, but this cell had been soundproofed, likely to facilitate either interrogation or isolation. Additionally, the Mandalorian guards were still half-asleep, but they would not remain so for much longer, Taral had to move quickly.

Reaching out with the Force, Taral began to warp the metal frame of Vegao's cot, causing it to shriek under the strain, bending and morphing until three pieces of jagged metal were sheared off. The three pieces rose off the floor and pointed toward the helpless Mandalorian on the wall; Vegao understood all too well what was about to happen. His father had crucified several of his enemies to make an example, to his enemies and his allies alike. A gruesome fate awaited any who were condemned to such barbarism.

The jagged metal shards flew with blinding speed towards their waiting victim. Two of the pieces went through Vegao's wrists, through a small opening in the cluster of carpal bones. The third piece of metal pierced his feet, splintering the bones within his ankles. His arms pinned and his ankles skewered, Vegao let out a blood curdling scream. It was not the sound of a man but rather that of a dying animal, tortured vermin unfit to continue its existence. To ensure his victim would not escape, Taral used the Force to flatten both ends of each spike. No amount of struggling would ever free Vegao this new prison he was forced to endure. His mind reeling from pain, he began to fall into a state of shock. Vegao would be unable to answer any questions Taral, or anyone else, asked.

Fortunately Taral did not need Vegao to cooperate to get the information he possessed. Taral deactivated the barrier curtain and slowly approached the tortured soul on the wall, feeding on the Mandalorian outcast's pain and fear. Taral allowed his victim's anguish to fuel the fires of the dark side.

Reaching out with his right hand, Taral placed the tips of his fingers on Vegao's forehead. He used the Force to probe the boy's mind, trying to mimic the flow of his thoughts so Taral could slip past the mental barriers all Mandalorians were trained to possess. It was somewhat difficult since his mind was falling to pieces from the pain in his hands and feet. As Taral followed the current into the boy's mind he stimulated all the pain receptors in Vegao's brain.

Vegao let loose with a high-pitched squeal and an agonized shriek. The pain he now felt was beyond anything that could be imagined. It was as if he was bathed in molten carbonite, every cell of his body was burning. But nothing would stop the pain, not death not even unconsciousness. Taral made sure that Vegao was conscious for every excruciating second.

To the ignorant, it might seem as if the sins of his father had doomed poor Vegao to this torture. But the truth of the boy's personality was far less sympathetic. Vegao had spent ten years under his father's tutelage after the family was expelled from the Mandalorian Union. Vegao was every bit the monster his father was and had he been old enough at the time, he would have gladly butchered Taral's family.

It did not take much effort to reach the information that Taral sought. Every scheme and every stronghold; all knowledge of Tlon Fett's forces now belonged to Taral. He would hunt down Tlon Fett and butcher him, his family, and anyone loyal to him. But it was a task that needed to be postponed; Taral had more important things to do. In the meantime, Vegao had served his purpose and was now a liability. The last thing Taral wanted was for Vegao to tell Panlie where his father was. Even if Vegao's mind had started to crack he might yet reveal something useful. If Panlie knew where Tlon Fett was, he would kill him. But Taral would not allow this; it was _his_ duty to bring the giant down, not Panlie's.

Taral raised his hand and placed his index finger on Vegao chest, lightly dragging his finger down to Vegao's belly before retracting his arm and placing his hand at his side. The Force responded to Taral's command and tore away the shirt that covered Vegao chest. Once his skin was exposed, Vegao burst into a fit of frantic screaming as the Force slowly separated the skin cells along the line Taral had drawn with his finger. As the cells fully separated, Vegao's ribcage and organs became visible shortly before his intestines spilled out onto the floor.

Taral watched as Vegao slowly died from his wounds, content to drink in the horror of the situation. But Taral needed to leave; he would quickly be exposed once they found Vegao's body, so he reached out with the Force and crushed Vegao's heart. The body gave a small spasm before permanently going still. Taral masked himself much like he had before he found Fett and exited the cell. He walked past the guards and was well out of range when they regained full control of their minds.

Taral made his way toward the freighter he had found earlier. All he had to do now was highjack the ship and make the jump to light-speed as quickly as possible.

* * *

Runi was walking the edge of the encampment, looking beyond the building and staring into the lush jungle that surrounded the encampment. There was so much history in this place, Dxun was as Mandalorian as any planet within the Union. She frowned slightly, by all rights Dxun should belong to the Mandalorian people. It was a small consolation that Dxun was under the jurisdiction of Onderon. The planet had long fought against the influences of the galaxy, even as it was absorbed into the Old Republic and all the governments that followed. Perhaps one day, Onderon might leave and join the Mandalorian Union, but not today.

Runi gave a small sigh as she began to walk toward the command center of the camp. Seeing Alana and Javen would help to put her mind at ease. As she made her way across the camp, she stopped when she heard a voice calling her name. Runi smiled as she saw Kal Onasi-Ordo running towards her holding a small package beneath his arm.

"What is it Kal?"

"I was asked to give this to you ma'am." Kal said as he held out the package.

Runi took the box into her hands and began to open it. Whatever was inside was wrapped in a dark gray fabric, resting on top was a piece of paper which had "Happy Birthday" written on it. As she turn the paper over, Runi noticed a short message on the back.

**The blood of a dark lord flows through your veins. Unlock that power and become a god.**

Bemused confusion forced its way onto her face. Runi was quite familiar with her family history, and no one had ever mentioned a "dark lord" in the family tree.

_Maybe it's for Alana… or Javen. But it's my birthday today… Hmm…_

Runi set the message back in the box and removed the cloth covered object. Gingerly, she unwrapped her present and saw what lay beneath. It was an unusually long lightsaber handle, beautifully crafted, but utterly lacking in artistic flare. It was utilitarian, just the sort of lightsaber Runi would have built for herself if she had been trained in such things.

A smile spread across her face as she fiddled with pommel in her hand. Straps of leather had been wrapped around the top and bottom of the lightsaber, forming two handles. The straps stopped near the top and bottom, leaving the ends uncovered. Between the handles, at the middle of the pommel, was a small area that was also left uncovered.

Runi noticed several small buttons in this middle section. Holding the pommel out in front of her, Runi pressed the middle button and nearly cut off her own leg when two lightsaber beams erupted from either end of the lightsaber. As her heart calmed from the sudden rush of adrenaline, Runi was able to inspect her gift more thoroughly.

It was a double-sided lightsaber or saberstaff. The weapon felt perfectly balanced in her hand, it felt just like the staff she always kept folded at her side. The blades gave off a quiet hum, the beams appeared pink or maybe maroon.

Runi was so enraptured by the sight of her lightsaber that she did not notice the light freighter lifting off the ground several hundred yards away. If she had taken notice, she might have realized the freighter was leaving over an hour early.

"Who gave this to you?"

"I… um… I don't remember, ma'am."

Runi was surprised by Kal's hesitation and forgetfulness. Runi suspected this item came from the Sith prisoner, though she could not imagine any Sith giving out birthday presents. But if it was the Sith and if he was able to manipulate Kal's mind, the implications were unsettling. Runi decided to seek out Javen and speak to him on the matter. The threat of Sith infiltration was simply too high to ignore.

* * *

The freighter managed to break through the atmosphere and leave the gravity-well of both Dxun and Onderon. Taral was pleasantly surprised by the ease of his escape; all he had to do was "persuade" the docking officer and the makeshift control tower to let the ship leave. Everyone involved believed the freighter had left on schedule.

Taral knew, with absolute certainty, that the ship was crawling tracking devices. There was also the issue of the ship registry information and the Mandalorian symbols emblazoned upon the hull. Taral knew there was only one place in the galaxy to remove all traces of Mandalorian influence from his new ship.

Taral turned toward the small yellow and white astromech droid which made the ship its home. It was a simple construct, with no loyalties beyond its core programming. To the small machine, Taral was simply the captain.

"Set course for Nar Shaada."

The ship's astromech droid beeped an affirmative as Taral rose from the pilot's seat.

_Time to deal with the stowaway._

Taral made his way to the back of the ship. Near the engine room was a small room with a bed, the captain's quarters no doubt. As Taral approached the entrance, the door slid open and he saw the ship's stowaway sitting on the bed. Taral's eyes were cold and menacing as he stared at the intruder.

"I already told you, I don't need an apprentice."

* * *

**Author's Commentary:**

Not much to say. Below is a scene where Taral kills the doctor that was tormenting him in Chapter 2.

**Deleted Scene:**

"I never break a promise." Taral said as he depressed the plunger on the syringe and injected the poisonous contents into the doctor's blood stream.

The doctor's body began to spasm as it reacted to the foreign fluid. The doctor tried to scream out in pain, but Taral's hand was firmly clamped over the doctor's mouth reducing his screams to muffled moans.


End file.
